


White Flag

by GirlwhoLived



Series: The Spider's Web [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Black Widow Character Study, Bucky - Freeform, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, F/M, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, SHIELD, Slow Build, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve struggles with this century, Tony is annoying but a good guy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 03:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11546313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlwhoLived/pseuds/GirlwhoLived
Summary: “It’s funny, really. Natasha's program, the secret organization that raised her? It was originally to combat you.”Steve shook his head, “what?”“Oh yeah, the Black Widow program goes back to WWII. After Captain America arrived every country was jumping to create their own super-soldier program. But Russia went the way of the classic misdirection. They created a different type of soldier to take you down.”Steve stared at her.“How do you take down a red-blooded American male?"Maria Hill raised an eyebrow, as if the answer was obvious, "with a woman.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a Black Widow-is-amazing!fic disguised as a Romanogers fic. Enjoy  
> (the quote is from the poem 'My Life Has Stood a Loaded Gun' by Emily Dickinson)

[ ](http://imgur.com/dnQDLiV)

 

An agent whose name he did not know, turned to him and asked the one question Steve had come to hate: what was most different about this century. Nine times out of ten people just wanted to tell him things to “check out”, be it music, food or television. And usually they were right. But it had started to feel a bit patronizing. He fumbled for a response and noticed Agent Barton grinning.

Yet, the spy didn’t add to the conversation. Judging by his expression, the man knew how tired he was of these questions. But, of course he would, Barton was trained to notice such things. Still, Steve appreciated the gesture.

Then the conversation turned, several other agents joining in, over what music he should listen to first. Steve didn’t understand most of what was being said, but at least he didn’t have to participate.

He watched as Barton meticulously cleaned and inspected his arrows. For the last two missions, he had been the leader of Strike Team Alpha. The man known as Hawkeye had lead the team with a confidence that only came from years of experience.

Steve now understood the meaning behind his codename. The man did not miss a shot. The man had a true gift with the bow. And, as Steve had learned tonight, was equally talented with a sniper rifle. There had been some whispering about Fury’s decision, putting him back in the field so soon after New York. The man had disappeared for a month, but Fury and Romanoff had not seemed concerned, so Steve ignored the talk. And the man he sat across from now seemed completely at ease.

Steve could see why he and Romanoff were Fury’s top spies. Barton was a clever tactician, no doubt from being a sharpshooter, and, Steve suspected, from military training. He had not once made a poor call.

The man was also a talented fighter in hand to hand, far more limber than Steve would have guessed. Barton looked older, late thirties, but moved as quickly and easily as Romanoff.

“Come on, Cap’, what’s something you really don’t get? You know, something that still weirds you out?”

Steve ignored the odd terminology, “uh, I guess the food.”

“The food?” agent Rumlow looked surprised.

Agent Michel’s laughed, “but didn’t you grow up in the Depression? What’s wrong with the food?”

He shrugged, “I think that’s part of it. There is so much food -- everywhere. And yet there are people who are still starving. And so much of it isn’t real food. Which, is something I will never understand. I mean, we had sweets when I was a kid -- but how is there food that’s not...real food?”

Barton snickered, and everyone turned in surprise.

“You sound just like Nat.”

Steve paused, “Agent Romanoff?”

Barton nodded, “she said the same thing when she first arrived. Had a hard time adjusting to having so much after growing up under Soviet rule. Throwing out food is something that still bothers her.”

“Soviet Russia?”

Agent Michels answered, “yeah, Soviet -- Communist Russia. It was a regime that --”

Steve cut him off, “I know about Stalin. Nearly met him in the War. Not on purpose though.”

A few of the agents grinned.

Steve was confused -- he would have sworn that the Black Widow was a born and bred american. Sure, Romanoff was a russian surname, but the spy had no hint of an accent. And what did Barton mean about Soviet conditions? Steve had been trying to catch up on the last seventy years, clearly he wasn’t even close. He could have sworn the news had recently mentioned a Russian President.

“Russia is still under Soviet rule?”

Michels laughed, “technically? No. But Russian politics have never been that... straightforward. They have a president. Putin. Officially, communism ended there in what -- ‘91?”

“Very good, Michel’s. Glad to see you didn’t sleep your way through high school.”

Michel’s clutched at his chest, faking a wound.

“Funny, Barton. I was seven in ‘91. You were what, like thirty?”

“Isn’t it past your bedtime, agent?”

Steve grinned.

Barton paused, and then fell back into the role of leader, “alright people, you know the drill. Store your gear and final weapons check.”

As he spoke Steve felt the quinjet begin to drop and Barton fell back into command mode, getting up to go speak with the pilot. How had Barton known they were close?

The serum meant he was more affected by altitude change, but he was sure he hadn’t felt anything. He must be more tired than he thought. Taking his shield from the hook behind him, Steve slung it onto his back. The other agents pulled open various racks for their weapons and tactical gear. He and Barton were the only ones who kept both their gear and uniform. And even though it hadn’t been an Avengers mission, the shield was his weapon of choice.

The quinjet shook, and a second later he felt it touch ground, running smoothly along the runway. This part of the future he liked quite a bit. The Quinjet was a much nicer aircraft than even Howard’s best military planes. The advances in technology were constantly amazing him.

The loading bay door opened and Steve welcomed the cool night air on his face. The other agents ran out of the craft, but Steve took a moment to center himself. His body ached pleasantly and his mind was calm. Maybe tonight he could get a few hours of decent sleep.

A hand clapped him on the back, and then Barton was beside him, “good mission, Cap. You definitely know how to pull your weight out there.”

Steve shrugged, “it was nice not being in charge. And I miss working as a team.”

The man grinned, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you do end up leading a team soon enough. I’m sure it’s why Fury has you doing these smaller missions. Getting to know the other agents and all.”

“But aren’t you and agent Romanoff leaders of Strike Team?”

Barton shook his head, “no, we fill in when needed. Fury just wanted to ease me in, after what happened. Me and Nat usually work solo.”

Barton was casual in his mention of New York, obviously having moved past what had happened. Steve was glad. But that also gave him more to think about. Did he want to lead a Strike Team?

The two men strolled across the landing field. It was a nice night.

“What do you think of soda?”

Steve glanced over in surprise, “Soda? Pop?”

“Yeah,” Barton looked curious, “Nat thinks it’s too sweet.”

Steve thought about it, “Everything nowadays is sweeter, I think. But that’s not always a bad thing. But I don’t think I’ve had any pop -- soda, yet. Not that I had it much as a kid.”

Barton hummed, “She’d never had it til she defected.”

Steve tripped; “defected?”

Barton slowed, looking surprised.

“Haven’t you read her file? Thought Fury gave you everyone’s file for the Avengers.”

Steve nodded.

“He did, but I didn’t look at them besides Dr. Banner and Stark.”

But even then those had been more of a personal quest. The man who had tried and failed to remake the serum. And of course, Howard’s only son.

Punching in the outer door code, Barton waved him in first.

“Well, she’s had a similar experience to you. ‘Bout as close as anyone can, really. You should read her file.”

Steve stepped inside, blinking in the artificial light, “isn’t that a little rude?”

Barton laughed, “trust me, there isn’t anything in there she doesn’t want you to know.”

Coming to a split in the hall, the men paused. Offering his hand, Steve was glad when Barton took it.

“Have a good night, Agent Barton.”

The man rolled his eyes, “call me Clint. I’ll see ya’ around Cap.”

And then Clint Barton strolled down the hallway, his quiver of arrows dragging on the floor like a kid's bookbag.

Steve was glad to head towards his private quarters. There was no way he would make it back to Brooklyn tonight. Typing in the code, Steve waited for the door to lock behind him before the shield hit the floor. Then came the consuming task of unbuttoning -- no, unzipping -- his tactical uniform. Modern fabrics made it lighter and more flexible, but after several hours of constant running and fighting it had become stiff as carpet.

Pulling off one boot, then the other, his thoughts drifted back to what Clint had said.  He hadn’t really spoken to Natasha Romanoff since the battle. Steve knew little about his fellow Avengers, and practically nothing about her.

Stark obviously had some sort of issue with her, but that wasn’t too surprising. Genius the man may be, Steve didn’t think this judgement was right. He clearly liked being the smartest one in any room. And he enjoyed provoking people. But Stark probably met his match with the red head.  

Romanoff had been gone the past two weeks on a solo mission, and had since been the topic of conversation by younger agents. And with his advanced hearing, Steve could not help but overhear things. But he hadn’t overheard anything negative  -- they seemed starstruck by the redhead spy.

But there were some rumors that even Steve had noticed for himself.

Her and Clint.

The roles of men and women had evolved so much since the 40’s, as had the way men and women interacted. It was something Steve was still trying to figure out. But even he could tell the two agents were close. Closer perhaps, than strictly professional.

And there had been that moment after the helicarrier attack when Steve was afraid he had intruded on a private moment. But both agents had been remained cool and focused for the entirety of the battle. And he supposed, that was all that really mattered. Hell, Romanoff had done her job even with Barton compromised.

Kicking off his left pant leg, Steve blearily stared at the bathroom door. He should really wash up. His mother had taught him better than to go to sleep covered in dirt and sweat.

Offering a silent apology to his mother, Steve collapsed on the bed wearing only his shorts. His last thought was how much Peggy would have loved this era. Maybe they could have been partners like Clint and Romanoff.

* * *

 

His clock read 6:47 am when Steve finally turned to look at it. Almost five hours, a new record. He blinked at the ceiling, stretching out his legs. But the desire to lay in bed was squashed by the rumble of his stomach.

Stumbling into the bathroom, Steve stripped off his shorts and stared at himself in the mirror. As usual all of his cuts and bruises had disappeared.

Flushing the toilet, he stuck his arm through the glass door and switched on the shower. He had adjusted to using it, but after a hard mission he still craved a bath.

Not that he would be able to fit. His Brooklyn apartment had some sort of shower-bathtub combination, but only his pre-serum self would have fit inside. Everything was larger in this century -- except for the bathtubs, apparently. Stepping into the hot stream, Steve was grateful at least for hot water. It was definetly an acceptable trade-off. 

Eyes closed from the stream, he reached for the bar of soap.

The serum had heightened his sense of smell, and it had been surprisingly difficult to find a soap that was unscented. Smelling good was a prerequisite for today’s world, but as with everything else, it was done ad nauseum. He didn’t mind that things were cleaner, but why put scents on everything? Couldn’t things just be clean? Why did his clothes need to smell like lavender bliss or the air smell like sunshine orange? It was overwhelming.

He had come from a war where he and his men hadn’t seen a change of clothes in months -- let alone any sort of bath. He could recall Peggy wrinkling her nose a few times, but that was reality. Sweat wasn’t some horrible thing, it was natural. Even now he could tell you what his mother smelled like when she’d come home after a long day of work. Perfume was a luxury she had only worn on sundays. It had always made him sneeze, and the serum had only made it worse. It also reminded him of the cat houses in Paris, and the poor women who worked in them. But now everyone wore some type of perfume, even men. Stark, for example.

Turning the knob, Steve stepped out of the glass door, snatching the towel from the hook. It only took a moment to dry off, and he tossed it into the bedroom. Hair and beard he left alone. Sighing, he took the stick of deodorant and put it on.

Clothes were easy, the two drawers full of basic SHIELD t-shirts and something called ‘sweatpants’. T-shirts were a novelty. He had worn them in the military, but they had still been considered underwear, worn under your uniform. Not on their own. 

But now they were acceptable as casual wear for both men and women. He still felt underdressed, but the benefits were quickly winning him over, after all, it wasn’t like he ever felt the cold.

Gathering his uniform and wet towel from the floor, he stuffed them down the laundry shoot. Slipping on trainers, Steve’s stomach rumbled again. Grabbing his watch, he slipped out the door.

The walk to the cafeteria was quick, and thankfully he only passed by two people. Even Captain America needed coffee before he could fully function. But that was something that had not changed -- American’s still loved their coffee. The cafeteria was quiet when he stepped in, only a few cleaning crew taking a break at a far table.

Maybe it was the bright lights on the linoleum floor, but Steve was suddenly brought back to his dream. He had dreamt of the train last night. Bucky.

Barton had been there as well, the two men switching back and forth, yelling at him to move, firing their gun past his head. Someone had been yelling into his earpiece. And no matter what, Steve had not been able to respond. All he could do was try and fend off the overwhelming amount of chitari.

Lost in thought, he could only nod at the kitchen staff as they handed his normal breakfast of eggs and sausage, double portions. They had finally stopped offering him the array of pancakes, waffles, crepes, french toast and who knows what else. Steve was a simple man when it came to food. Especially breakfast. He wasn’t sure how french toast differed from normal toast, but today was not going to be the day he found out.

One large black coffee in hand and the tray in the other, Steve settled down at an empty table. He ate slowly, mind drifting back to the dream. This was probably something he should share with Dr. Patel, his psychologist. But maybe you didn’t talk about dreams anymore. Freud’s theories had apparently been disproven. But there was something called PTSD, and that could cause nightmares.

He grimaced, still uncomfortable spilling his thoughts and fears to another man. Even in church as a sickly child, Steve had rarely told God his frustrations.

Glancing up, Steve nearly dropped his coffee. Sitting across from him, sipping from her own mug, was Natasha Romanoff. She cocked her head, smiling.

“You were somewhere else.”

Swallowing, Steve shrugged.

“Dream.”

The spy nodded, but didn’t probe any further.

She was sweaty, he realized faintly, her SHIELD t-shirt clinging to her in dark splotches. It was so unapologetic, so casual. Steve couldn’t help himself. Feeling like a complete pervert, he casually breathed in through his nose, letting her waft over him. A woman who smelled like a real woman.

“Why you up so early, Rogers?”

He shrugged, “it’s not that early.”

Taking a sip of coffee to hide his actions, he berated himself. What would his mother think?

The spy raised an eyebrow, “it’s Sunday morning. No one gets up before noon on a Sunday.”

“You’re up,” he countered, breathing through his mouth. And people thought he was so pure.

Romanoff shrugged, “internal clock. Never can get more than a few hours at a time. Even after a mission.”

Immediately, Steve relaxed. Of course she understood.

“So, when did you get back?”

“Not long after you, I suppose. Found Barton asleep, half-undressed.”

Steve hoped he wasn’t blushing. That was an incredibly private thing to share, yet she had said it so freely.

“You coming to Stark’s party?”

Steve swallowed a bite of eggs, “his what?”

The spy paused, then pulled out her phone -- a contraption everyone seemed to have on them at all times.

“It’s his birthday on Tuesday. We are all invited -- a mini Avengers get-together,” she tapped away at the phone, “you don’t know?”

Steve shook his head, the eggs turning sour in his stomach. The awful truth hung over him. He hadn’t been invited. Why would he? Stark and him had gotten off to a very rough start. But damn, if he didn’t feel small again. Would he ever not be --

“What’s your passcode?”

Surprised, Steve told her the 6 digit code, watching her tap away at the phone. Then she rolled her eyes.

“hmmpf” she held out her phone, and he took it cautiously, “Stark sent you an email, the _dummkopf_.”

Reading the text, Steve felt a flutter in his stomach. He had been invited.

“I will print it out for you.”

Nodding mutely, he handed back the phone. He hoped that meant a paper copy.

“ _Dummkopf_? I thought you were Russian?”

Romanoff nodded, still looking at her phone, “I am Russian. But I was in Germany last night, guess it hasn’t left my system.”

“Oh,” he replied, feeling like an idiot again. Of course she would speak several languages.

Sliding her phone out of sight, she dropped both elbows on the table, grasping her mug with both hands. Steve picked up his coffee as well, feeling his shoulders release. He should probably say something.

“I’ve heard rumors about his parties. Not sure I’m going to like it.”

She smirked, as if she knew exactly what kind of parties he threw. She probably did.

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Stark’s taking it easy this year. And Pepper planned it, so I imagine it will be casual.”

“Pepper?”

“His girlfriend.”

Whatever his expression was, it made her laugh.

“Surprised he has a girlfriend?”

Steve shrugged, “if he’s anything like Howard, I’m sure he’s never without one for long.”

Mug empty, she set it on the table, fingernails tapping the side.

“Then you are in for a surprise. Pepper is head of Stark Industries. Virginia Potts,” she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “not sure where she got the nickname from. I’d put my money on Stark, though.”

Steve tried to process this information with the man he knew. Stark was going steady? With a girl who wasn’t just arm candy? He would believe it when he saw it.

Quick fingers snatched the fork from his hand. Hiding his surprise, Steve watched as Natasha Romanoff picked at the food on his plate. There wasn’t much left, and it had certainly gone cold, but she ate it nonetheless.

“You think too much, Rogers.”

Steve was definitely blushing. Mom had always called him an open book.

He watched her stab at a sausage, Barton’s words coming back to him. Romanoff had grown up in Soviet conditions. She was as sensitive about food as he was. But was that something you talked about? Would that embarrass her?

Steve was distracted by the whisper of his name, and he turned to see several young agents standing not too far away. They were talking about him. He sighed, not in the mood to deal with fans. One day he would meet every single agent in this place, and would never again have to autograph some horrid USO memorabilia.

But then the whispers stopped and their footsteps faded. Glancing up, he noticed Romanoff starring in the same direction, watching them leave.

“What did you do?”

Green eyes found his, “told them to leave you alone.”

He glanced back to where they had been standing, “what? How?”

Smirking, she pushed herself up from the table, “I have a reputation.”

Standing as well, Steve was momentarily entranced by her gaze. Oh, that was how.

Breaking the spell, Natasha Romanoff picked up her empty coffee mug, flashing a smile.

“See ya, Tuesday, Rogers.”

And then she left.

Falling back into his chair, Steve couldn’t help but grin. Boy, that had been a whirlwind. And he wasn’t sure but it seemed like Natasha Romanoff wanted to be friends. Hell, even Tony was reaching out. Steve felt less alone, and that had not happened for a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

Heading back to his room, Steve felt better than he had in awhile. Wouldn’t Dr. Patel be proud, he had made another friend in under 24 hours. Hell, his mother would have been proud and Bucky. 

But those were not good thoughts to dwell on. 

Turning down the corridor to his room, Steve saw something taped to the door. Pulling it off, he punched in the code and slipped inside. Unfolding the paper, he found the invitation to Stark’s party. Natasha had made him a paper copy.

Propping it on his dresser, he kicked off his shoes and turned to the small desk. Stacked neatly on top were the files that Fury had given him weeks ago. As leader of the Avengers Steve was given full backgrounds on every member. It was probably time he read through them all.

Curiosity won, and he pulled the stack to him. Barton had assured him that it was ok to read them, and so he plopped onto his bed. Dr. Banner’s was on top, then Stark’s. He set them aside, and after a moment added Barton's. Idly, he wondered what his own file said.

But he wanted to learn about her first.

A picture that resembled more of a mugshot was taped to the front -- a thinner, younger Natasha staring back at him. The file was heavy, but no more than anyone else's.

Opening the file, Steve was presented with a typed page -- most of which was blacked out.

 

_NAME: Наталья Альяновна "Наташа" Романова. Natalia Alianovna Romanova; Natasha Romanoff; XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX._

_CODENAME: Чёрная вдова._ **Black Widow.**

_DOB: XXXXXXX. CITY: XXXXXXXXXXXX. COUNTRY: XXXXXXX {UPDATED: XXXX - XXXXXXXXXXXX}_

_HEIGHT: 5’ 6’’_

_EYES: GREEN_

_BLOOD TYPE: XXX._

_NOTABLE FEATURES:_

_Tattoo’s: [NONE]_

_Scars: Cranium 4in.; above right ankle 2cm; left shoulder 3in; XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX 3in. {UPDATED XXXX: see pgs 55-56}_

_FAMILY: NONE/DECEASED._

_{UPDATED 2002: ICE is CLINT BARTON}_

_PREV. EMPLOY: XXXXXXXXXXX {AKA: RED ROOM} [---------]._

_KGB: ALPHA [-------]_

_SVR [1996-2000]._

_KILL COUNT: XXX_

 

 _RECRUITMENT:_ **DEFECTED** **2002** _[see pages xi-xxii]_

_MEDICAL HISTORY [UPON ARRIVAL]:_

_Long-term effects of malnutrition/starvation. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX. Three [known] concussions. Four [known] accounts of amnesia -- little to no memory of early life. Evidence of forced electroshock. Possible LSD recipient. Three accounts of waterboarding. PTSD. Sleeper- triggers [UPDATE **:** deactivated XXXX] {see pgs 45-46}. Skin grafted to upper left thigh in XXXX. Broken eye socket [right] in XXXX. Left finger [5] broken in XXXX unable to fully use {UPDATE: HEALED XXXX}. Scar on cranium [occipital] four inches in length, unknown origin. Temp. hearing loss [right, minor] {UPDATE **:** HEALED XXXX}. Two [known] accounts of rape. Patient admitted to forced operation of XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX. Patient was subjected to medical tests of unknown origin over a span of XX years -- inconclusive data. Sporadic migraines. _

 

_ALLERGIES: NONE. [see pages 32-33 for allowed medications and healing factor]_

 

Steve wasn’t sure what he was reading. How could this possibly be the woman he had just been speaking with?

Starvation.

Electroshock.

Rape.

She was a spy, and they put themselves on the line -- but her injuries spoke of capture. Torture.

How was she still alive?

They had occurred before she joined SHIELD. But some of those were unforgivable. It reminded him of the war. The POW camps. Rescuing Bucky from Zola’s lab.

His chest tightened, and Steve absently rubbed it. Dr. Patel had confirmed what Steve was all too aware of -- how the serum effected his emotions. Right now, it was as if pins and needles were stabbing his heart. How had one girl lived through so much?

Considering all that had happened in his life, Steve had been incredibly lucky.

Skimming the information, Steve tried to piece together all the blacked out information. Some of it defied logic. Why was her date of birth redacted?

All of her previous employers were blacked out, save for the KGB and the Red Room. Steve didn’t know what either meant, but the math didn’t add up. Even if she had been eighteen in 1996, it would make her far older than Barton now. Steve knew boys who had lied about their age to join the war effort -- maybe that was her situation? Regardless, Romanoff couldn’t be older than thirty.

Reaching for his sketchbook, he flipped to an abandoned page and jotted down the things he didn’t know. These weren’t questions you asked people, but there had to be a library on base.

Cautiously he turned to the next page,

_SKILLS [UPON ARRIVAL]:_

_Advanced Air Assault. Armor-Tank certified. XXXXXX. Ballet. Basic First Aid. Black Ops. Classical Piano. Close Quarters Combat (CQC). Computer Coding. XXXXXXX. Counter-espionage. XXXXXX. Counter-intelligence. Covert Ops. Cryptology. XXXXXXXXXXXXX. Detect Ambush. Detect Concealment. Escape and Evasion (E &E). Explosives. Forgery. Gymnastics. Hand to Hand (HH). Han Kuk Mu Ki Do. Heavy Weapons. Hojo-Jutsu. XXXXX. XXXXXXXX. IED capable. Interrogation. Infiltration. Judo. Lip-reading: Eng, Rus, Ger, Fre, Ita, XXX, XXX. Maskirovka [RMD]. Melee Weapon Capable. Morse Code. Neurolinguistics. XXXXXXXXXXX. XXXXXXXXX. Parkour. Photography. Sleep Deprivation Training. Steganography. Surveillance. Sparrow. XXXXXXXX. Tae Kwon Do. Threat Elimination. Tracking. All-Weapon Capable. Wet Works. XXXXXX. XXXXXXXX. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX. XXXXXXXXXXXX. Wilderness Survival: Cold Weather, Desert. _

 

_SKILLS [POST 2002]:_

_American Sign Language [ASL]. Archery. Bomb Disposal. Combat Medic. Conflict Resolution. Cyber-espionage. Equestrian. Extraction. XXXXXXXXXX. Hostage Negotiation. SEAL capable. SWAT capable. Swimming. Wilderness Survival: Maritime. XXXXXXXXXXXX. Wine Tasting._

 

_LANGUAGES:_

_Russian [1st]. English {ASL}. French. Italian. XXXXXXX. Japanese. Portuguese. Chinese [Mandarin]. Spanish. Welsh. Thai. XXXXXXXXXX. XXXXXX. Urdu. Latin._

He jotted down more things as he read her skill sets. It was fascinating. but now he understood why she had easily hopped onto a chitauri ship and steered it to the top of Stark Tower.

Flipping past several reports of SHIELD surveillance while she had been a KGB agent (also blacked out) he finally found a report dating 2002. But it was not what he expected at all.

 

_XXXXX XXX XX 2002:_

_**KOS ISSUED BY XXXXXXXXXX.** _

_**TOP PRIORITY - WHITE FLAG.** _

 

_TARGET: NATALIA A. ROMANOFF/ROMANOVA [CODENAME BLACK WIDOW]._

 

_LAST KNOWN LOCATION XXXXXX, XXXXX._

 

_AGENT C. BARTON [CODENAME HAWKEYE] TOP SECURITY CLEARANCE: KOS - BAMN_

[ ](http://imgur.com/mowqTPQ)

She was a top priority target with a White Flag agreement.

Steve had seen those orders once before. But even in the middle of the deadliest war of the century, it was an incredibly rare order. Even Zola had only ever been High Priority.  But here was another photo of Natasha, with the words **WHITE FLAG** stamped over her face. Just like they had been stamped over Adolf Hitler and the Red Skull.

This order outranked every law and command -- it was more than a neutrality act. It was what had brought Stalin against Hitler. A white flag agreement meant the entire intelligence community had agreed to take her out. And that included SHIELD.

Kill on sight. By any means necessary.

And Barton was the agent chosen to represent SHIELD.

Who the hell was Natasha Romanoff?

The next few pages were basic reports of Barton tracking her across eastern Europe. He had watched her kill several people, all of whom had been thoroughly cross-referenced. But no leads. It appeared she had gone AWOL, picking off various people from her organization. But none were top-priority, and some had no connections to her. Barton believed it was personal, and so he was allowed to simply observe.

 

_**SITUATION REPORT** \- DAY 24     _

_HE reports sighting MK at XXXXXX, XXXXX in Vienna at 10:03 local time._

_MK BVR at 14:09 local time. HE unable to pick up trail. XXXXXXXXXXX. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX._

 

_**SITUATION REPORT** \- DAY 25 _

_HE reports trail leads to India. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX._

_16:22 local time: HE reports sighting of MK at local train station at XXXXXXXXXX, New Delhi. Does not initiate._

_06:52 MK heads Northwest. HE confident she is static. BVR. Did not pursue. RTB._

 

_**SITUATION REPORT** \- DAY 26 _

_HE reports sighting of MK at local train station at XXXXXXX, South India. 07:31 local time._

_HE reports MK at local train station. 08:52 local time._

_HE reports MK at local train station at 11:22 local time._

_Post-Brief: HE reports that MK targeted male victim. DOA [13:10 - 13: 20 local time]. Pursued aprox. 500 yards to possible safe house. MK interacted with two NC’s [Unharmed]. MK exited safe house from south-east doorway at 13: 27 local time. BVR. Did not pursue. HE returned for Lucky Drop and RTB._

_Lucky drop contents: Wallet containing Fake ID with microchip. Alias of Maksim Sokolov. Member of XXXXXXXXXXX [RED ROOM]. Member since XXXX. Pocket litter._

_Microchip information: XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX. Location is believed to be an orphanage in XXXXXXXXXXX. Possible BOO. HE will pursue lead._

 

_**SITUATION REPORT** \- DAY 27 _

_HE will attempt ghost infiltration of  XXXXXXXXXX. HE equipped with beacon and basic firearm._

_Postbrief: HE reports the intel was accurate. Sight is active orphanage. Not BOO and no known connection to XXXXXXXXXXXX or MK. Data unconfirmed as to why target was associated with it._

_UPDATE: HE reports unconfirmed intel. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX {see File QR-XXXXXX}. Will confirm with Director._

_HE ordered to stand down. Recon only._

_{Mission Report: pgs 25-26}_

**POSTSCRIPT: _HE wants to bring in MK. HE may or may not be emotionally compromised._**

 

The next two pages were Barton’s mission report. Unlike the rest of the report, this was handwritten. Judging by the scrawl, Barton had never learned how to properly hold a pen or he was in fact, emotionally compromised. Steve skimmed it, only because it too was blacked out. But what he could make out was an acronym he knew all too well.

TARFU. Things are really fucked up. 

The next few reports were basic intel and recon. Hawkeye had obeyed command and not engaged. Instead he had tracked the Black Widow through India for four more days. And then

 

_**SITUATION REPORT** \- DAY 32 _

**CODE BLACK** _. HE offline. Has not responded since 02:15 local time [HQ]._

_UPDATE: Transmission from HE arrived at 09:34 local time [HQ]._

_Transmission reads: 5 by 5. Tell F not to proceed. Will bring in package alive FS. DNE. Out._

_[UPDATE: Director orders a stand down. Will allow 72 hr silence]_

 

Steve blinked. Barton had gone off the grid. He had gone after Romanoff alone.

There was no doubt that Romanoff was an incredible spy, but there had to have been another reason. The only reason for going AWOL on a mission of the highest clearance was because you had been captured or killed. But willingly? That did not happen.

Sure, Steve had run off to rescue Bucky and the the 107th. But at the time, Steve had been nothing but a performing monkey. Barton had committed treason.

He leaned back, thinking back to the few interactions he had witnessed between the spies. What had he seen that would make him take such a risk? Steve glanced at the pages of blacked out information. There was an obvious bond between them. Romanoff had stated as much this morning. But could it really be that simple? Had they fallen in love?

Romanoff was a talented fighter and a gorgeous woman, but that didn’t seem likely from spies of their caliber. It sounded ridiculous -- something out of a dime novel. So, what had Barton seen in her?

 

_**SITUATION REPORT** \- DAY 35 {37 hrs since silence} _

_04:12 local time [HQ] transmission from HE received._

_Transmission:_ Will arrive at XXXXXXXXXXXXX with package. FS.

_Verification: XXXXXXXXXX. Confirmed._

_Extraction team will be waiting at XXXXXXXXXXXX with SWAT on standby. HQ advised to stay on Orange Alert. Medical, Psychiatric and XXXXXXXXXXXX on standby._

 

Two signatures graced the bottom of the page.

     N. Fury

     P. Coulson

 

Then came the photographs.

Stepping out of an older model quinjet was Clint Barton. Hands raised in a peaceful gesture, he appeared to be speaking with the armed personnel.

The next photo was Barton looking back into the jet.

And then she appeared, stepping beside Barton on the ramp.

But it was not the Natasha Romanoff Steve knew.

Feet bare, Romanoff stepped onto the tarmac wearing nothing but black leggings and a huge SHIELD t-shirt. Her hair was dyed a dark brown and her skin was unnaturally tan, but her posture was clearly that of the Black Widow. It was hard to imagine how flexible and quick she could be, seeing the rigged figure in the photo. Steve swallowed, it was like looking at a junkyard dog, ready to lunge if needed. There was still fight left within her.

God, she looked no more than twenty.

Close-up photos revealed red scratches on her left arm and a purple bruise on her lower calf. But that was not what had Steve’s attention; it was the dead, unseeing gaze captured so clearly in the colored photographs. It was the same expression Bucky had worn in Zola’s lab. Broken.

An agent carefully came forward and cuffed the defector -- something Barton had not bothered to do. 

She was thin. Even under the baggy t-shirt, Steve could tell this was a woman who had been living hard. Her cheekbones, her wrists, even her ankle bones pressed tight against her skin. A junk yard dog, indeed.

The next photograph was the arrival of Fury. He and Barton spoke as Romanoff stood blankly beside them. And then she was lead away, Barton the only one in her immediate vicinity.

The final series of photos documented their walk into HQ. Steve carefully pulled one out, entranced. Despite being partly obscured by a guard’s shoulder, it was by far the most telling.

It was a close up of the spy as she walked, Barton’s arm wrapped around her thin shoulders. Considering the situation, the gesture was an incredible sign of trust. They were surrounded by armed guards in full combat gear and yet Barton was protecting _her_.

But it was Natasha’s expression, only visible in this one photo, which revealed the woman behind the spy. Despite Romanoff’s hard exterior, there she was, leaning into Barton’s embrace. It almost seemed unconscious, the slightest tilt of her body angling itself into his.

The intimacy of the moment, the fragility in her eyes -- Steve shoved the photo back into the file.

Steve hated the serum at that moment. It was as if his chest was being pressed by a boulder. Stark constantly teased him about feeling too much, and god, was he right. Steve wanted -- no, needed to pumble every sick bastard that had turned that young woman into a shell of a human. He wanted to find Barton and demand answers. What had he seen in Natasha Romanoff that made him risk it all? And what were they? There had to be a deeper connection between the two spies. But what? How was that amazing woman still alive and functioning? People called him unstoppable, but Romanoff put him to shame. How did such a woman even exist? Steve shifted in bed, boxers tight. 

Rolling off the bed Steve began doing push-ups. Hopefully a few thousand would chase away these feelings. If not, he would start his morning routine extremely early.

Two days later, Steve found himself sketching a familiar face, trying to capture the emotion he had seen in her green eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the acronyms I made up, but most are actual terms used by military/intelligence agencies.
> 
> ICE: In Case of Emergency/Emergency Contact  
> Maskirovka: Russian Military 'Deception' Tactics (false trails, camouflage, decoys, disinformation)  
> Melee weapon: Using any tool available as a weapon in hand to hand combat  
> Han Kuk Mu Ki Do: Martial arts Weapons mastery  
> Hojo-Jutsu: Japanese Rope Binding  
> SVR: Organization that came after the fall of USSR / "the new KGB"  
> Steganography: Hiding messages in plain sight  
> DOA: Dead on Arrival  
> HE: Hawkeye  
> MK: Mark (Natasha)  
> BVR: Beyond Visual Range  
> RTB: Return to Base  
> NC: Non-combatant/civilian  
> Lucky Drop: Item accidentally left behind by mark  
> BOO: Base of Operations  
> 5 by 5: 'Affirmative'; message received/mission successful  
> FS: Full Surrender  
> DNE: Do Not Engage


	3. Chapter 3

Pulling to a stop, Steve stared dubiously at the monstrosity that was Stark Towers. His bottle of wine suddenly felt incredibly inadequate. Following the signs, he drove further down into the garage, until he was stopped by a metal gate. A silver box, of what he thought was a tv or computer blinked at him.

“Name?”

Steve took off his sunglasses, “uh, Steve Rogers.”

“Please come in, Captain Rogers. Mr Stark is waiting for you on the 54th Terrace.”

Nodding at the mystery british voice, he coasted his bike past the gate and into a huge lot with surprisingly only a few cars. But he parked his bike beside them and found his way to the elevator. Immediately he was reassured that this was Stark’s home. Who else would have such a ridiculous elevator?

“Hello, Captain Rogers. My name is JARVIS, let me know if there is anything I can assist you with.”

It was the same british voice. Steve glanced around the glass contraption, “who are you?”

“I am Mr. Stark’s personal assistant. JARVIS.”

He stared at the button console, spotting a speaker, “are you a real person, JARVIS?”

“No, I am a computer operating system.”

Steve nodded, although he had only understood the word computer.

“Oh.”

“Mr. Stark listed you under several names, by which do you prefer to be called?”

“Um, what did you call me before?”

“Captain Rogers.”

Steve shrugged, “that’s fine.”

“Very good, Captain Rogers. Can I answer any questions for you?”

Steve shifted the bottle of wine in his hands. There were a lot of questions. Hell, he never stopped having questions about this era.

“Uh, yeah. What is french toast?”

“French toast,” the voice replied, without a hint of mockery, “also known as eggy bread, Bombay toast, gypsy toast or german toast is a dish where bread is soaked in a mixture of eggs, sugar and milk. It is then fried lightly on a grill. Common additions to this are raisins, powdered sugar, cinnamon and maple syrup. In America it is most often served during breakfast.”

Steve nodded slowly, “so it’s similar to bread pudding?”

“Yes, Sir. Mr. Stark often has it during brunch with Miss Potts.”

The elevator slowed, and came to a stop with a small ding.

Steve took  hesitant step into Stark Tower, “thank you... JARVIS.”

“Of course, Sir.”

The elevator closed, and Steve found himself in a large, open room -- it looked like the entirety of the 54th floor. Glass windows revealed a patio, where figures stood overlooking the city. A figure who looked like Stark stood behind a barbeque, waving the spatula as he explained something.

“Oh, good, JARVIS said you arrived!”

A gorgeous woman with strawberry blonde hair hurried towards him, a gentle smile on her face.  Tall and thin, she motioned him to follow. Amazed and impressed, Steve allowed her to kiss his cheek. He studiously kept his eyes on her face -- she wore nothing but a thin, white top that only brushed her thighs.

“Natasha said you had received the invitation. I am so glad to finally meet you. I’m Pepper Potts. Come in, come in!”

Romanoff had been right. This was not at all who he had been expecting at all.

“Thank you for having me.”

The woman blushed, “of course! I’m sorry we haven’t had you over sooner! But it’s been quite a mess trying to repair the tower...” she trailed off as they made it to the deck, “Tony, Mr -- oh! Do you prefer Mr. Rogers? Captain?”

“Steve, please.”

Miss Potts, grinned, “lovely. Call me Pepper.”

Tony sauntered in, grasping Pepper by the hip. He too only wore black shorts and sunglasses. Were they sunbathing? Or was this just a Stark quirk?

“Hello doll, hello Cap’. Glad you made it. Drink?”

Steve nodded, and Tony turned towards the bar. Were barbecues always so light on clothing? Granted, the arc reactor in Stark’s chest was as distracting as Miss Pott’s attire. Rationally he knew the piece of technology was in the man's chest, but seeing it in person was unnerving. He had to stop staring.

“Oh, here.” He handed over the bottle of wine, finally remembering his manners “it’s nothing much --”

Pepper lit up, her smile completely genuine. He understood why Tony had fallen.

“Oh, that’s so kind of you, thank you,” her eyes flickered to the deck, “I’m glad someone brought a gift.”

Embarrassed, Steve only nodded.

“If I had brought wine, Tony would have just checked it for poison.”

Natasha Romanoff stepped in from the deck, drink in hand.

Tony, didn’t look up from the drink he was making, “yeah. Probably.”

Pepper rolled her eyes, but her expression said she was used to their banter. Romanoff winked at him and disappeared back outside, but Steve was trying desperately to get air back in his lungs. It appeared this whole party was light on clothing. Romanoff wore nothing but a black swim costume, a red sarong around her waist.

Pepper gestured into the penthouse, “we are all outside in the jacuzzi, if you would like to join. There is swimwear in the blue guestroom you are welcome to use.”

Trapped, Steve nodded and allowed her to lead him further inside. This was a terrible idea. He was expected to act casual with two incredibly attractive, scantily clad women? And what if there were more women out on the deck?

“Take your time, and ask JARVIS for anything you need. Towels and sunblock are outside.”

Nodding, he ducked inside the room, glad to be alone. Steve leaned his head on the door. Why did he think this would be a good idea? He wasn’t sure he could go back out there.

Send him up against german soldiers or even aliens from outer space -- but small talk with attractive women? And who else would be out there but the master of flirtation, Tony Stark. And he was supposed to be similarly dressed? In nothing but a swim costume? The memories of the last time a situation like this had occurred flooded his mind. At least there had been Bucky to help him out. With a groan, Steve turned around, mentally preparing himself.

It was not at all what he expected.

For a moment Steve was sure he had stepped back into the 30’s.

The guestroom was completely unlike the modern sleek lines of the tower. He wondered if Stark even knew it existed. Soft blue walls, delicate wooden furniture, a cast-iron bed: Tony would no doubt run screaming. But Steve felt himself relaxing in the familiar space.

The robins-egg-blue comforter looked like silk and he hesitated on leaving his clothes on it. Instead he draped his jacket on the cane chair beside the commode. There was even a silver vanity set resting on the commode. Steve carefully picked up the hairbrush, recalling the many mornings he watched his mother use such a set. She would have loved a bedroom like this. She had certainly deserved one. He set  it back down gently. These were all antiques, he realized faintly.

“Sir, do you need any assistance?”

Yes, this was still Stark Tower. Steve glanced at the ceiling, wondering where exactly the voice came from.

“Swimwear is in the top drawer, Sir.”

Steve nodded, gently pulling the commode by the brass handles.

There was an array of shorts all made of the same odd material. But it answered the question as to what Stark had been wearing. There was an array of colors, patterns, and even lengths. Hesitantly he searched through, grateful for the modern addition of standard sizes. Steve chose a navy blue pair that appeared like it would cover most of his thigh.

“Stark doesn’t mind?”

“No, Sir. These are for guests use. It is yours to keep.”

Folding his slacks, Steve decided to leave his undershirt on. The sky was clear blue and he didn’t want to burn. He slipped on the blue swim costume, amazed at how thin the fabric felt. It was nothing like the high-waisted wool shorts of his childhood.

He wasn’t sure what a jacuzzi was, but gathered it was some sort of swimming pool. Of course Stark would have one on the 54th floor.

Steve stared at his reflection, hoping this was how he was supposed to look. The painting on the wall distracted him, and Steve took a step forward. It couldn’t be. Suddenly he was back in high school wandering the public library during the winter, waiting for his mother to get off work.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir?”

“The painting here... who is it by?”

“That is a Monet.”

Steve was in awe.

“Painted in 1879, entitled ‘Vetheuil in the Fog’,” JARVIS continued, “It was purchased by Miss Pott’s in 2007 for the Stark Foundation. Mr. Stark gave it to her as a christmas gift two years ago.”

Steve had read quite a bit about the impressionists as a kid. But he had only ever seen black and white reproductions. Apparently they were still popular.

“Is this an original?”

“Yes, Miss Potts bought it at auction for $4,892,120.”

Steve snorted. Why was he even surprised?

But god, it was a beautiful work.

Glancing at the door, Steve wondered if anyone would notice is he simply stayed in here. It was definitely safer than a party full of beautiful women in minimal clothing.

Bucky’s voice echoed through his head, chastising his cowardice. He wasn’t the scrawny boy from Brooklyn anymore -- even if he still felt like it.

Feeling ridiculous, Steve left the room.

* * *

 

Tony, who had been relaxing in the Jacuzzi, turned towards the two spies as the conversation lulled. Steve recognized the look,

“So, tell me, is ‘honeypot’ a real thing?”

Steve had no idea what he meant, but judging by Col. Rhode’s reaction it wasn’t polite or appropriate. And Tony had clearly expected a reaction.

But Clint didn’t look up from his phone and Natasha only looked amused.

“It is.”

Tony’s eyes lit up and Steve feared what that meant.

“So back when you were doing Fury’s dirty work--”

“Tony,” Pepper chastised, but he shrugged innocently.

“Hey, she knows everything about me, it’s only fair.”

Natasha rolled her eyes; “I’m a spy, Tony. That’s what I do.”

Tony waved his hand, “but your cover. A former model. Business degree. Latin. That was on purpose -- and, am I really that shallow?

“Yes, you are.”

Beside her, Clint grinned.  

Tony turned all the way around, elbows resting on the cement.

“But that’s my type. Everyone knows that.”

Romanoff sipped at her drink, “If you are asking if that persona was chosen on purpose, then yes. By appearing as ‘your type’ I fell under your radar -- meaning you would just as quickly forget about me.”

Col. Rhodes smirked and even Pepper grinned. Tony was exactly like his father.

Heading back to the grill, Steve made himself another burger. He wasn’t hungry, but he needed to do something. Giving up on the facade that he could/wanted to drink beer, he poured himself a generous helping of lemonade.

He crossed behind Natasha and Clint, taking his same seat. Tony wasn’t satisfied, and Steve felt his eyes on him. That wasn’t good.

“For those of you who don’t know,” Tony glanced between him and Dr Banner with a grin, “a honeypot is a spy who seduces her target.”

Coughing, Steve glared at the inventor. The Colonel rolled his eyes and finished his beer, not at all surprised. Dr Banner looked extremely uncomfortable.

“So, were you?”

The woman in question was the only one unbothered.

“Undercover work usually contains an element of seduction.” She replied, making Tony grin, “but no, Tony. That’s not why I was there. I was sent to monitor. Make sure you didn’t give away information while you were busy self destructing.”

Stark narrowed his eyes, “monitoring me, not my company. Right. Then why did you spend all your time with Pepper?”

“Seduction, Tony.” Natasha removed her sunglasses, “it’s about giving the mark exactly what they want -- even if they don’t know it. And you wanted someone to be there for Pepper when you couldn’t.”

Tony’s smug look faltered for a moment, glancing at the woman next to him.

“Touche.”  

Pepper in turn, smiled at the spy, “you were by far, the best assistant I ever had.”

Clint finished his beer and wandered into the Tower. Dr. Banner followed, but Steve thought it was more to do with the topic of conversation.

“But, but!” Tony’s eyes lit up as he thought of something, “if you were supposed to stop me from giving information away why let me have that party -- hell, you talked me into it! And why let Rhodey fly away with my suit? That is the definition of giving away information!”

Col. Rhodes held his hands up in defense, “don’t look at me.”

Pepper looked concerned, glancing between the two. But Steve finally realized what they were referencing. Last year, during the Stark Expo. Romanoff was the agent he had read about. She had voted against him joining the Avengers. That explained a lot.

Natasha shrugged, rubbing some sort of oil on her arms, “that wasn’t giving away information, that was you hitting rock bottom. And I take no credit for your birthday party, you had to do it. You’re the type of man who can only take stock of his life when it’s too late to turn back.”

Steve pulled at his t-shirt, wondering if he should move into the shade. The pool was starting to look more and more tempting, but it meant he would be in no-man’s land between Romanoff and Tony.

Tony soured, “No, I remember. You told me to go through with the party -- seductively.”

Natasha gave him a pointed look, “I gave you what you wanted, Tony. An out.”

For a terribly long moment the only sound was the music over the speakers. Steve hastily took a sip of lemonade, looking anywhere but at Tony. Clint appeared, handing Natasha a fresh Margarita and she smiled, watching as he sprawled out on the chair beside her. Dr Banner returned to his spot in the shade, looking hopeful, handing another beer to the Colonel.

Pepper stood from the Jacuzzi, offering to get anyone else another drink, pinching Tony on the arm as she climbed out.

“But,” Tony slipped off his sunglasses, looking smug again, “and correct me if i’m wrong, is that the same technique you used on Loki?”

Steve was sure Natasha had frozen for a split second. When had she spoken with Loki? Steve was not the only one who looked confused.

“No, what you pulled on the helicarrier -- that was different. I got more of a grifter, con artist vibe, not a seductress.”

Pepper returned and Tony graciously helped her back into the jacuzzi.

“So?” Natasha gave nothing away, “seduction is giving someone what they want. So do con artists.”

Tony grinned, as if he had been waiting for that response, and waved his arm. A projection appeared on the mirrored glass of the party deck.

“Hmm. Let’s see what everyone else thinks, shall we?”

It was security film from the helicarrier. Two different angles showed a lone figure inside a glass prison. He glanced back at the two spies, but they casually sipped at their drinks.

_Loki stands in the center of the prison, facing away from the doors. A moment later Natasha appears before the glass._

_“There’s not many people who can sneak up on me,” Loki is impressed, eyes bright._

_“But you figured I’d come.”_

_Turning, the demi-god grins, “After whatever tortures Fury can concoct, you would appear as a friend, as a balm. And I would cooperate.”_

_Romanoff doesn’t blink, “I want to know what you’ve done to Agent Barton.”_

_“I would say I’ve...expanded his mind.”_

_The spy narrows her eyes, “and once you’ve won, once you’re king of the mountain? What happens to his mind?”_

_Loki grins, “is this love, Agent Romanoff?”_

The feed paused, and Tony glanced at the spy, “so right here, this moment -- Loki tells you what he expects?”

Natasha nodded. Beside her, Barton sipped his beer, but Steve was sure the man looked tense.

_Romanoff’s expression doesn’t change._

_“Love is for children. I owe him a debt.”_

_Loki looks intrigued, “tell me.”_

_Hesitating for a moment, Natasha sits in the available chair, “Before I worked for SHIELD...I made a name for myself. I have a very specific set of skills, and I didn’t care who I used it for, or on. I got on SHIELD’s radar in a bad way. Agent Barton was sent to take me out. He made a different call.”_

Steve glanced at the spies, recalling her file.

_“And what will you do if I promise to spare him?”_

_Her voice was firm, “not let you out.”_

_Loki grinned, teeth barred, “No, but I like this. Your world in the balance, and you bargain for one man.”_

_Romanoff shrugs, “regimes fall everyday. I tend not to weep over that. I’m Russian. Or I was.”_

Tony paused the feed again.

“So, now you’re the lovesick spy with no other loyalties...pretty convincing there, Romanoff. Oh, and now for my favorite part.”

_“And what are you now?”_

_Standing, Romanoff shrugs, “It’s really not that complicated. I’ve got red in my ledger, I want to wipe it out.”_

_“Can you? Can you wipe out so much red?” Loki is no longer grinning, and his face transforms into a cruel mask, “_ _Can you wipe out that much red? Drakoff’s daughter? Sao Paulo? The hospital fire? Barton told me everything.”_

Barton’s grip was tight on his beer. Steve had no idea what Loki referred to -- but it was clearly something very private from Natasha’s life.

_“Your ledger is dripping, it’s gushing red, and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything? This is the basest sentimentality. This is a child at prayer. Pathetic! You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers. You pretend to be separate, to have your own code, something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will never go away.”_

_Natasha looks terrified. Loki is practically spitting with rage._

_“I won’t barter Barton! Not until I make him kill you. Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear. And then he’ll wake just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams I’ll split his skull! This is my bargain, you mewling quim!_

_Turning away, Natasha’s voice breaks. “You’re a monster.”_

_Loki shakes his head, laughing, “Oh, no. You brought the monster.”_

_Natasha spins back around, her entire demeanor changed. “So, Banner? That’s your play?”_

_She is a spy once more._

_Flashing a smile, agent Romanoff gives the demigod a quick nod._

_“Thank you, for your cooperation.”_

_The video freezes on Lok’s shocked expression._

Clapping jolted Steve from the video feed.

“Moving, truly. Oscar worthy.”

The rest of the patio was silent.

Steve remembered that day clearly. Natasha had found them in the lab, and she had tried to warn them. Right before everything had gone to shit.

“So how d'ya do it? How do you trick a trickster?”

Climbing to her feet, Natasha untied her red sarong, dropping it and her sunglasses on the deck chair. Steve averted his eyes, but not before spotting the faint scars on the back of her thigh.

“Simple. He may not have been human, but he was still a man. And men have one fatal flaw.”

Barton grinned. Tony couldn’t hide his curiosity.

“Oh?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, “ego.”

Steve snorted, and even Dr Banner laughed.

Tony shook his finger at the spy; “clever.”

Natasha stepped into the pool, sinking in until only the tops of her shoulders were visible.

Making a decision, Steve stood and took off his sunglasses and t-shirt. He could do this.

Acting like he has done this a thousand times before, he headed over to the small pool. Natasha smiled at him, but turned back to speak with Pepper who had climbed out of the jacuzzi.

He glanced over at Stark, who was drinking a margarita, a towel wrapped around his waist. Beside him, Pepper had laid out on her stomach, and Tony obediently began rubbing her back with lotion. Steve kept his eyes on the pool as he carefully climbed in. Her gold bikini was indecently tiny and Steve wasn’t sure how he could ever look her in the eye. 

He was also impressed with the flexibility Stark had despite the metal object embedded in his rib cage. The skin around it had healed well, but it had to be uncomfortable. Steve had to admit that Howard Stark's son was far stronger than he had first wanted to believe. 

Sinking into the cool water, Steve felt a million times cooler. God, this was far nicer than a bath. Splashing water over his head, he let his eyes close. Maybe he would try the jacuzzi next.

“So, what about men without ego?”

Steve made the mistake of glancing over at Tony.

“What do you mean?” Natasha’s voice, so close, surprised him. He didn’t know where to look.

Tony shrugged, “how would you seduce someone like Cap? He’s pure. No ego there.”

Despite himself, Steve laughed, “I have an ego. And I’m hardly pure.”

Oh, he was definitely not pure.

Tony waved his hand dismissively, “you don’t have the same hang ups as us mortal men. A beautiful woman wouldn’t slow you down.”

Ha. If only Tony knew.

Nervously he glanced at Natasha. She was far too good at reading people. A man out of time. A loner. Those were things she could exploit. But she wouldn’t have to. The most obvious one was Tony had just said. If she tried any sort of that seduction on him... god, he wouldn’t know what to do.

He thought of Peggy. Of the blonde military woman whose name he couldn’t remember. Women were his achilles heel.

Natasha’s green eyes found his, and Steve relaxed. She wasn’t going to play Tony’s game.

“Rogers?” she cocked her head, as if considering, “it would still be ego.”

Tony looks surprised. And truthfully, so was Steve.

“What?”

She smirked, “Captain America. Right and wrong. Your sense of justice is as much an ego as Stark thinking he is a gift to womankind.”

Natasha winked at him, and Steve hoped to god he wasn’t blushing.

“She’s not wrong,” he shrugged, “I can admit I am old fashioned about my morals.”

Tony stared at him, but eventually looked convinced.

“What about Pepper? How would you seduce her?”

Steve knew he was red. The woman in question smacked him on the side, “Tony!”

“I would pay to see that.”

Steve was glad he was sitting in cool water he realized what exactly Stark referred to.

Natasha smirked, “I’m trained in all areas of seduction.”

Tony’s eyes went wide.

“So you have slept with a target? Banged them for information?”

Steve coughed, the Colonel sighed and Dr. Banner turned bright red.

Natasha shrugged innocently. But what was more surprising was when Barton also nodded.

Even Tony went quiet.

“It rarely goes that far,” Natasha explained, “we’re not Bond. It’s about gaining the marks trust. And seduction is usually the quickest way to do that.”

“Not me,” Clint grinned, “I commit. Full Bond girl.”

Tony looked absolutely thrilled.

Steve had no idea what ‘Bond girl’ referred to, but he understood the implication. Clint had done... that on missions? Romanoff seemed designed to do such things -- but him? This time Steve wasn’t the only one surprised.

Natasha, seemingly unaware of the shocked looks, tied her hair back, the tips damp from the water.

“And honeypot is the term for a mission. A female agent is referred to as a Sparrow.”

Clint motioned to himself with his sunglasses, “Raven.”

Stark looked like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Who's more difficult to seduce?”

“No, Tony!”

Rolling his eyes, the inventor held up his hands in surrender. Leaning over he kissed his girlfriend on the forehead, “fine, fine.”

Splashing water on his face, Steve couldn’t help but feel relieved.

“You should be careful there, Rogers.”

He glanced at the spy in surprise.

“Your shoulders are getting a bit pink. Did you put on any lotion?”

Steve glanced at his arms -- damn, this was why he had kept his shirt on.

“Here,” Natasha waved at him, climbing out of the water like a modern aphrodite.

Numb, he climbed out after her, catching the towel she tossed at him. He quickly wrapped it around his waist, grateful when she did the same.

Without looking up, Clint handed her a cannister.

“This is suntan lotion, you rub it on your skin so you don’t get burned.”

Steve nodded, finally realizing what the others had been doing all afternoon.

“This is spf 30, which should be fine. Rub it on dry skin until it disappears --careful, it comes off in water. This is a spray version, works just as well.”

Handing him the cannister, she smiled, “keep it”.

Steve, grateful for her quiet explanation, headed back to his chair in the shade. There were no clouds in the sky and he hardly needed to use the towel before his skin was dry. But he could feel the unnatural warmth coming off his shoulders. This would be a first -- how did the serum deal with sunburns?

Clumsily, he copied her actions, spraying the liquid on his legs, and then rubbing it in. The spray faded from white, quickly disappearing into his skin. It was strange-- but everyone else had been using it. But how much should he use? And should he put it all over his body?

Steve made the mistake of looking back at Natasha for guidance. His mouth went dry as he saw her rubbing lotion into her neck and collarbone, hands sweeping down to the top of her breasts. God help him, he wasn’t strong enough to look away. She was the epitome of every pin-up girl from the war. Steve slipped on his sunglasses, hoping it would make it less obvious that he was staring.

Natasha shifted, sitting indian-style on her deck chair, carefully rubbing the lotion onto her face. He nearly dropped the cannister in his hurry to sit down and do the same.

A stripe of lotion remained on her cheek, and his stomach dropped as Barton gently cupped Natasha’s face and rubbed it with his thumb.

It was such an intimate gesture, Steve felt himself flush

“I gotta say Romanoff, a little disappointed you didn’t grace us with a bikini.”

Steve had to relax his grip on his drink before it shattered but Natasha merely raised an eyebrow. Barton just shook his head and stretched out on his stomach. He wasn’t bothered at all by Tony’s remarks? He wasn’t going to say anything?”

“What are you hiding? Scars? A tattoo? Weapons?”

Fist clenched, Steve gave him a dirty look.

The inventor shrugged, “hey, it’s my birthday!”

Natasha stretched out on her deck chair, “isn’t everyday your birthday?”

Tony grinned, but was cut off by Col. Rhodes.

“Tony leave her alone, haven’t you interrogated her enough?”

Tony pouted, “I’m conversing.”

The Colonel gave him a look, and Tony caved, “okay, okay.”

Swiveling, the man sets his eyes on Dr Banner.

“Come on out of the shadows. You’re not gonna freckle.” Tony paused, “actually, that’s quite interesting. If you get a sunburn, does the Other Guy?”

Dr Banner didn’t move from his spot, but his smile was genuine.

“Don’t know. Don’t want to find out.”

“Have you never tested your melanin levels? Do they change with the change? Is the green-ness a part of that? Does the shade of green depend on your natural skin tone?” Tony plopped into the chair beside Banner, “if Rhodey Hulked out -- would his green be darker? And what about tattoo’s? Would it still remain? How about...”

Col. Rhodes grinned at Pepper, and Steve decided he really liked the man.

Natasha laughed and it was as if Steve was pulled towards the sound. His drink had melted until it was mostly water, but he drank it anyway, needing something to do with his hands.

Steve couldn’t help staring at her.

The way she was stretched out, one leg draped over the other, her profile lit by the sun -- it was perfect. He felt terrible for thinking of a fellow teammate in that way -- but the artist in him could not help but see the possibilities. And Natasha Romanoff was a Venus come to life.

But he was grateful that she hadn’t worn a bikini. He was sure even a guy like Bucky would have been speechless. Even picturing her in one now is asking for trouble.

His gaze flickered back to the pre-raphaelite goddess lounging in the sun. True works of art always had incredible stories behind them.

Fingers tapping, Steve let his mind drift.

* * *

 

[ ](http://imgur.com/dpqP6FA)

[ ](http://imgur.com/AGxZVN8)


	4. Chapter 4

It was four a.m. but Steve couldn’t help but be drawn back to Natasha’s file. It had been almost two weeks since he had needed to stay the night at HQ, and therefore had not looked at the files since. He was still full of adrenaline from the mission and sleep was not going to happen. He needed a distraction.

Favoring his ankle, he got up from the bed and made it the five feet to the desk. Her file sat on top, waiting.

Fury wanted them to work together. He couldn’t deny that the prospect excited him. Natasha was easy to talk with and not at all intimidated by his Captain America status. She was an enigma, however. One moment she would be flirting (or possibly teasing, he wasn’t sure), and next she would scale a wall or disarm three men without touching the ground.

But Steve still wasn’t sure what Barton meant about their shared life experiences. But it had to be in here somewhere. Making a decision, he took the file and limped back to bed.

Stuffing a pillow behind his back, Steve spotted the smooth corner of Stark’s tablet. The man had given it to him after the party, insisting that Steve have access to all that this century offered. Stark had then proceeded to make several jokes about the device being senile-friendly. It was an extension of JARVIS, so Steve didn’t have to worry about typing or actually using the tablet himself. It was both thoughtful and a bit condescending, but Steve took it nonetheless.

The tablet appeared to be a plate of glass the size and width of his hand attached to a silver frame that could fold into a stand. Honestly, Steve had been too intimidated to use it, leaving it here at HQ.

Picking up the device, he waited as the screen began to glow. It was worth a shot.

“Uh, JARVIS?”

The wheel on the screen spun, “yes, Captain Rogers, how may I be of assistance?”

“I have some... I mean, I need the definitions on some things in the Avengers files. You can do that?”

The wheel spun again, “of course, Sir. I am connected to the SHIELD archive as well as various other official archives, should that not be sufficient. What would you like to know?”

Scrambling, Steve pulled the file back onto his lap, flipping through the many blacked out pages. He already knew what Sparrow meant, thanks to Tony, and military acronyms had thankfully not changed in 90 years.

But where was his sketchpad? He had made a list -- oh, there it was. Steve flipped it open, and laid it out next to the file.

“Oh, ok, um what’s LSD?” He had seen that listed several times.

The wheel spun.

“Lysergic acid diethylamide, commonly referred to as LSD or acid is a psychological drug known for its hallucinatory effects. Discovered in the late 1930’s it would not become a marketable product until 1947. Originally sold as a psychiatric medicine, the drug quickly became associated with 1960’s american youth subculture. The drug was ultimately banned in 1971 because of the numerous and dangerous side effects. It is still available on the black market today.”

Various images appeared as JARVIS began to speak again. A video played of a man dancing in a crowd -- though it resembled more of a seizure.

“In reference to SHIELD and other intelligence organizations, the drug was formerly used in interrogation. In the 1950’s, the Central Intelligence Agency believed LSD could be used as a form of mind-control, a truth-drug, and other various forms of chemical warfare. This was quickly abandoned as it was proven inconclusive and in violation of the 8th amendment. Many agents of SHIELD, past and present, have been subjected to LSD interrogation.”

Carefully he brushed the tablet with his fingers, looking at the photos and videos JARVIS had pulled up for him. It looked awful. This had been used in interrogations? Steve shook his head, this was the type of warfare he had fought against.

“Wine tasting? That can’t really mean actual wine tasting.”

“No, Sir. Wine tasting refers to the recognition of various poisons by taste and smell.”

Steve scratched his eyebrow; was that something all agents learned? Or just spies? He flipped back in her file -- there were several mentions of her being poisoned. Would he have to learn that too? After all, the serum would most likely prevent their effects. LSD was likely one of the drugs spies were taught to recognize.

Steve looked down at his notes.

“Alright, what’s a sleeper-trigger?”

“A sleeper agent is a tactic of placing an undercover spy in an enemy or target zone over an extended period of time. The agent will remain undercover until a signal is given.”

Steve nodded, “so a double agent.”

“Essentially, sir. The term sleeper-agent came into use during the Cold war, when the Soviet Union placed agents throughout various western countries. Agents could spend years undercover, masquerading as loyal citizens, some even starting families in order to blend in.

A sleeper-trigger is a word or phrase that causes a programmed individual to follow a pre-conditioned command. This is a technique done through brainwashing, originally by way of hypnosis or classical conditioning. Since the computer age, however, the technique has been done through neurological implants and electric stimulation.

This practice was made illegal in 1998 by all military and covert institutions. It is extremely dangerous, as the trigger overrides human will and the person in question is not in control of their own actions. In the 1980’s there were several cases of sleeper-agents who were accidentally activated. There were also cases of persons who had been implanted against their will or without their knowledge. A few did not even known they were a sleeper-agent.”

Wow. The Nazi’s had done some terrible things during the war, but he had hoped the world had evolved since then. But judging by Natasha Romanoff’s file, the world had not changed at all.

“That‘s what happened to agent Barton with Loki.”

“While we still do not know the full capabilities of Loki’s scepter, the loss of will displayed by agent Barton matches the symptoms of brainwashing.”

Steve drummed his fingers on the tablet. He hadn’t actually encountered Barton during the Helicarrier attack, Natasha had been the one to take him out. According to Fury, she was the only one on board who could. After watching her take out countless Chitauri aliens, Steve believed it.

“Ok, what is the KGB?”

“The Komitet gosudarstvennoy bezopasnosti or KGB was the official security agency of the Soviet Union from 1954 to 1991.”

“So they were the police?”

“The KGB was a military operation that quickly gained a reputation for foreign intelligence, counterintelligence, their role within the Soviet government, as well as combating anti-Soviet, and anti-national activities.”

Steve went cold, “similar to the Nazi SS?”

The wheel spun, as if thinking it over, “that would be a fair assessment, though their are many current debates discussing the topic. If you would like I  --”

“No, thank you.” Steve felt strange thanking a computer, but JARVIS replied in kind. Stark’s machines were more polite than their creator.

Flipping casually past the information he had read and reread, Steve finally found a SHIELD report that looked like it held answers. Romanoff had been assigned a therapist after her defection -- several actually. The first few pages were almost entirely blacked out, but at this point Steve wasn’t surprised.

 

_Patient: Natasha Romanoff_

_SHIELD Therapist: Dr. Malia Wren_

_*These sessions are to be therapeutic in nature, and all records are confidential [unless granted by the patient: form GRT-4004X1]. These sessions are protocol for all SHIELD applicants, and are to be considered separate from the patients defection_ [ case XRX-0362] _. These records are not to be used as information about the Black Widow Initiative, the facility known as the ‘Red Room’ or the patient's involvement with the KGB. These sessions are solely for the benefit of the patient,_ Natasha Romanoff.

**SUMMARY:**

_Patient has a limited recollection of her childhood pre-RR. Parents identified as XXXXXXXXXXXXXX and XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX [NOTE: both deceased XXXX]. Only child. Patient can recall memories but is unable to react emotionally: disassociation_

_Believes she was taken by RR as punishment after her father failed to_

_Aged six or seven when taken by_

_Patient recalls spending first ~four~ years at training facility disguised as girl’s school. [Early signs of Stockholm syndrome apparent in several memories]_

 

_Enrolled in ballet classes [qualifier for RR]_

_unable to make jump resulted in broken right leg. Patient was not allowed_

_acceptance into RR required the killing of a fellow student. Next XXX years spent full time military-type training. Patients recalls_

_three years under tutelage of Ivan XXXXXXXXXXX [Codename: XXXXXXX] {see file QTR-451-XX3} Relationship was abusive._

_Underwent various medical experiments and tests for three years [XXXX-XXXX] but was eventually tapered off after several participants died. Patient was kept in the dark about the purpose of the experiments._

_UPDATE XXXXXXXX: working with XXXXXXXXXX to find information. Patient unwilling to give details, but clearly knows more._

_UPDATE XXXXXXXX: Inconclusive data, but the leading theory is_

 

_Patient recalls the drought of XXXX as particularly intense and that it lead directly_

_subjected to random psychological and physical tests including blindfold weaponry, XXXXXXXXXXXXX, 72 hour sentry duty, XXXXXXX, Wildlife survival [Siberia] and occasional_

_Monthly exams of physical health were in fact trials by RR to test  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX. Patient was exposed to XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX, XXXXXXXX, XXXXXX and other diseases for unknown purpose._

_punished with random starvation._

_RR practiced the technique known as ‘Red Light’. Patients were subjected to severe physical training, minimal nourishment, XXXXXXXXXXXX, XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX and_

_forced to take high levels of estrogen and other hormonal pills [unknown]._

 

_months in brothel in XXXXXXXXXXX and St. Petersburg [XXXX]_

_Broken eye socket from_

_Captured by XXXXXXXX forces and held for 47 days before_

_First escape attempt occurred XXXX with aid of a RR trainer. [Note: Patient reacts emotionally/admits to nightmares and headaches -- sign of intense trauma. But is unwilling to discuss further at this time]_

_Punished severely after capture._

_Madame B_

_Spent undetermined amount of time in Siberia. Patient cannot recall most of her time there -- believes this was done on purpose [forced amnesia] because of what occurred during_

 

_married to agent XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX for mission to XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX. Undercover at Bolshoi Ballet. Patient was allowed_

_Patient recalls these memories fondly_

_second attempt to try and escape. Husband [ agent XXXXXXXXXXX] believed to have been killed as punishment. Patient reacts emotionally but denies any romantic feelings towards Husband_

_states this as another bout of amnesia by [possible LSD] XXXXXXXXXXX. Believes to have lost over a year of memories_

_Graduation process included XXXXXXXXXXXX surgery. Patient was not informed beforehand. Patient has not yet come to terms with the truth -- and as such is extremely volatile. This sense of betrayal and depression is not uncommon in cases of XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX. I advise that we dedicate several sessions solely to this topic._

_Graduated RR spring of XXXX with_

_contract with KGB for the assassination of XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX and_

_At the massacre of_

_Saved life of Handler Ivan XXXXXXXXXXXX and other high ranking officials during the MI6 attack in_

_first use of computer. Trained [undercover] in the office of XXXXXXXXXXXX. Lasted several months until the_

 

_Assassination attempt of XXXXXXXXXXX foiled by patient and other agents of KGB_

 

_Injured in firefight at XXXXXXXXXXXXXX. Wounds sustained in left forearm_

 

 _2000 escape was not planned. [Note: probable DBC] This is another point of conflict and the patient continues to hold back in our sessions._  

 

A child. She had been a child.

Steve reread the pages again, praying it wasn’t true, his blood cold. Natasha Romanoff had been a child soldier.

She had never tried to hide her origins as an assassin, but god, this was so much more.

It explained her extensive abilities and the ease at which she killed. There was never hesitation in her eyes, never a question of whether or not she should take the shot. If it needed to be done, then she would do it. But he had never considered how she was able to switch off and do such things.

_Love is for children._

His heart ached at the deeper meaning behind those words. Conditioned her whole life to be a killer -- how had she broken free? He had seen men go mad and lose all sense of morality in the war. But compared to the things he had just read? How could she still fight? How was she able to stand? Because he knew she felt guilty for her past, he had seen her eyes go distant as memories took over.

Steve glanced over the report, trying to picture the Natasha that was described. It hurt to even think about because Natasha was one of the kindest people he had met since waking up in this century.

She had tried to escape. Steve stared at the typed words in horror. God, could this get any worse? There were no dates listed anywhere, but it appeared that both escape attempts had occurred years apart. How young had she been the first time?

His eyes drifted to the bottom of the report. There was almost no information on the defection itself, or why she had gone AWOL. Steve wasn’t sure if he could handle reading anything more. He wanted to know about her defection, how Agent Barton had managed to bring her in. But if it was this painful...

“What about DBC? What does that stand for.”

“DBC is an unofficial acronym for Death by Cop. It refers to a suicidal individual who forces an authority or opposing figure to respond in a lethal fashion.”

Steve set down the tablet. He didn’t want to know anymore.

* * *

Their food was being thrown about on a stove in front of them. Steve found it to be both distracting and bizarre. He had never eaten Japanese food, but the group had assured him it would be worth it. And had to admit it smelled delicious, even if he still tensed at the mention of the asian nation. It was hard to accept that Japan and Germany were no longer enemies of America. For him Pearl Harbor had only been a few years ago.

“Do I have to take the lead on every conversation?” Tony drawled, breaking the momentary silence, “‘cause I will.”

Agent Hill, who sat beside Steve, made a point of rolling her eyes, “lucky us.”

The man quirked an eyebrow, but a moment later settled on Steve.

“So, Capity Cap, my father had an annoying habit of never shutting up about you. But he was prone to exaggeration. So let’s here the truth. Is it true that the serum would only work on people who were ...pure, good-hearted? Or was that just 1950’s post-war bull.”

Steve laughed, “no, the serum would work on anyone. But Dr. Erskine did want someone who...the serum it magnifies everything, right? So it made me stronger and more intelligent but it also means that I am more susceptible to emotion. And so--”

Hill interupted, “so, he didn’t want some young hot-head or a trigger-happy soldier.”

Steve nodded.

Barton looked curious, “So you literally feel more? Not just physical pain, but adrenaline, anger, guilt?”

“And happiness,” Steve added, not that he had experienced that particular emotion yet.

Tony snorted, “ha, you must get horny as hell!”

“Tony!”

Pepper slapped him on the arm, as per usual. Steve was sure he didn’t want to know what Tony said, but no doubt someone was going to tell him.

“Horny.” Tony grinned at him, “Lustful. You want sex. A lot.”

Steve rolled his eyes, not dignifying that with a response.

Eyes glinting, Tony grinned, “so, we’ve got Banner who can’t risk letting loose, Cap who feels way too much and Romanoff, who, well I’m not sure feels much of anything.”

Steve stiffened. Why did Tony always have to go after agent Romanoff? The fact that she was capable of any emotion was a testament to her character. After everything she had experienced in life, to still be empathetic and compassionate was astounding. After waking up in this era Natasha Romanoff was one of the few people he considered a friend.

Steve heard the slightest crack and immediately released his grip on his drink. More susceptible to emotion was an understatement.

The chef flipped his spatula over his shoulder, catching it with his left hand, and then was quickly scooping even morsels of food onto each of their plates. Steve glanced at the rest of the table, glad when some of them took the fork and not the chopsticks. He wasn’t even going to try.

The chef bowed low, speaking quickly in Japanese, but made out the phrase Captain America and Iron Man. Steve hesitated, but then nodded in return.

Barton responded in fluent Japanese, and the man bowed again, pleased.

“He wanted to personally thank you and Tony for saving the city,” Barton explained as the man left, “His family is safe because of us.”

Tony grinned, “Was it just me or did he call them kaiju?”

Steve stared at Tony, “you speak Japanese?”

The inventor shrugged, “not as well as the spy, here. But I do a lot of work with the asian market.”

Steve had to admit he was impressed.

“And yes, he did call them kaiju.” Barton answered.

“Excellent,” Tony grinned, that is excellent.”

Steve focused on his meal, aware that the whole table understood the reference except for him.

Barton sat on the other side of the square table and Romanoff wasn’t with them. He glanced at Agent Hill, but decided against it. He hardly knew the woman.

Tony tipped back his martini, spinning the olives, “Hey, Legolas, why don’t you show us some of your hibachi skills.”

Barton rolled his eyes, “I can juggle. Not much of a cook, though.”

“Not even for Red?”

Barton snorted into his beer, “I can cook better than her, that’s for sure. But there isn’t usually time to cook on missions.”

Tony popped an olive in his mouth, unsatisfied with that answer “so you’ve never cooked for a girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

Steve coughed into his drink.

Barton shrugged, “don’t have either, I’m afraid. But I’ve been known to make breakfast in bed on occasion.”

“Where is Red, by the way?”

Steve grimaced.

Agent Hill was the one who answered, “on a mission. And no, you cannot ask what it is.”

Tony rolled his eyes, “wasn’t gonna.”

Steve snorted, which Tony of course, witnessed.

“So Cap, I want to know, do you think you can take on Red? I mean talk about the battle of the sexes. You are masculinity personified and she is,” Tony grinned, “well, her. Whatd’ya think?”

Steve set down his fork, “I don’t know. Really, Tony. But that’s why we are on the same side. I don’t have to fight her.”

The inventor turned to Barton, “what’s your opinion?”

Hill grinned, catching him off guard.

“What?”

"it's funny you said that."

Steve blinked, "why?"

“Natasha. Her program, the secret organization that raised her? It was originally to combat you.”

Steve shook his head, “what?”

“Oh yeah, the Black Widow program goes back to WWII. After super-soldier Captain America arrived every country was jumping to create their own formula. But Russia, Russia went the way of the classic misdirection. They created a different type of soldier to take you down.”

Steve stared at her.

“How do you take down a red-blooded American male?” Maria raised an eyebrow, as if the answer was obvious, “with a woman.”

She grinned at his shocked expression, “oh yeah, the Black Widow program -- everything we know came from her defection,” Hill took a sip of beer, “essentially, she was made for you.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

It was a beautiful, clear day, which was rather unfortunate for the mission. He and Nat would have to wait until dusk before trying to break into the secure facility. So, for now they sat on the rooftop of an abandoned factory, sniper rifle at the ready.

“Hill told me that your... that the Red Room was originally made to fight me in the war. That the Black Widow program was designed to take me down.”

Nat looked up from adjusting the scope, “yep.”

“So, what were you trained for?”

“You,” she said simply, “I was trained to take down you.”

“No, not the original Black Widow program... you, your generation. I mean I was dead for all anyone knew.”

Sitting up, Natasha looked pensive, which surprised him.

“The Soviets... didn’t believe the war would end so soon. For them, the Cold War was already stirring when you disappeared. For years they thought it was a ploy by the Americans. You’d be surprised at how many countries wanted you to be found alive somewhere. You were the symbol of America.”

Steve snorted, “so the Soviets thought I would be found 80 years from now? Huh, they had more faith in me than my own country.”

Nat didn’t smile. Nervous, Steve scrambled for something to say.

“I’m not sure how well I would have done.”

Natasha turned towards him, eyebrow raised.

“My luck with women is definitely a flaw the serum could not fix.”

Her smile was genuine, “I doubt the Red Army was aware of your Achilles heel. They merely assumed that all American men had that same flaw. “

Steve had to laugh, “at that point in the war? Oh yeah. It would have been ugly. Though Bucky somehow managed to always find a girl.”

He cringed as the thought crossed his mind, “At least I wouldn’t have had to go against you.”

Natasha had an odd expression, “oh?”

Steve shrugged, “you would have had me in circles in no time.”

Her smile was hard to read.

“I dunno, Rogers, you don’t give yourself enough credit. Women have an achilles heel too. And it’s a nice boy who wants to take care of them.”

He snorted, how many times had he heard that?

“Even you?”

“Even me.”

Steve didn’t know what to say to that. Was she teasing him?

Thankfully, Natasha changed the subject.

“If you hadn’t gone down in ‘45, if you had been around for the war to finish, what would you have done? Retire?”

That thought had been bouncing around his head for a while now. Dr. Patel had asked him to consider it a few months before. He thought his mind had changed because of the 70 years in the ice-- but was that true? 

“I’m not sure. I think, I think I would have stayed in the army. Just because the war ended didn’t mean everything was solved, after all. I could have done some good. I would have probably helped Peggy and Howard form SHIELD, and help fight in the ...what was it called? The Cold War.“

He sighed, “I liked to think that Peggy and I could have gotten married and settled down, but now... I don’t think that would have happened. We were both so driven. Sure, we would have done the proper thing and gotten married, but I think we both would have stayed in the army for as long as we could.”

He felt Natasha’s gaze, and was comforted by it.  

“That’s especially true now. I don’t think I could just hang up the shield and walk away. I don’t see that as a possibility. I don’t think I can ever stop.” He trailed off, knowing she understood.

This time the silence between them was comfortable. Nat checked the perimeter again with the rifle and Steve used his advanced eyesight to check their surroundings.

“You know, the Black Widow program was central to the Cold War.”

“What?”

She grinned, “how do you think the Soviets got their intel?”

Steve swallowed, “so you still would have come after me?”

She nodded.

“Even if I was married?”

She rolled her eyes, “yes, Rogers. Even if you were married. That usually made things easier.”

Steve wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“But knowing your strong moral code, you would have put up a good fight. Usually it’s the female targets who get suspicious. But since you have no idea of the effect you have on people -- women -- you wouldn’t believe anyone was genuinely hitting on you.”

“Hitting?”

Natasha cocked her head, “flirting.”

Oh.

“You would be a challenge alright,” her green eyes twinkled, “hell, probably could’ve gotten me to turn.”

She laughed at his disbelief, “oh yeah. With those baby blues? Kryptonite.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Well, I’m still glad I never had to go up against the original Widows. I was far more... naive, back then. I definitely would not have expected it. Especially if they were as good as you.”

Natasha’s smile faded for a moment, but then it returned.

“So you got a girl, yet?”

He groaned. Not this again.

* * *

 

Steve wandered away from a group of overly eager women, handing his empty champagne glass to a passing waiter. They were getting less and less subtle with their interest in him. Natasha had slipped a wedding ring on his finger to discourage such things, but it did not appear to be working.

“Anything?”

Negative’s came from both Nat and Clint. Steve tried to smooth his features, doing his best to not look impatient. His cover identity was a military commander -- something that, as Nat said, would explain his stiff behavior. This was his first mission going undercover, and despite the jab at his social skills, he supposed it was accurate.

Clint was a wealthy businessman, newly involved in black market arms dealings while Natasha was a dashing heiress. He spotted them mingling in the crowd, completely at ease with the situation.

Steve focused on the orchestra, gaze drifting towards the ballroom floor where couples danced.  Men in black tie, women in long gowns -- he didn’t think people still danced like this. It made him nostalgic. But he also could see why Tony had kept making James Bond jokes. Speaking of

“Stark?”

The inventor’s feed was full of laughter and clinking glasses. Rolling his eyes, Steve glanced over to where Tony was surrounded by a gaggle of women begging for his attention. The inventor had been invited to the gala and was using his celebrity to their advantage.

“Still nothing, Cap.”

The laughter was cut off, and Steve was grateful for the quiet. JARVIS was running their feeds, and kept any idle chatter out of their comms.

“It’s a party, Cap -- act like it. Find a dame and take her for a spin.”

Steve grimaced, but he knew the inventor was right. Their mark was currently spinning a young woman around the dance floor, enjoying his time before the big meet-up. But Steve had never been comfortable at these types of events -- and it felt wrong to do so while on a mission. He resisted the urge to scratch at the dark brown wig on his head.

“Is JARVIS in the system yet?”

“Yes, yes, all set.” Tony muttered, voice muffled by high pitched laughter, “relax. This guy is an arrive late, leave early type.”

Steve tried to relax. Tried being the key word.

“Well, the mark still isn’t leaving the dance floor, and we need to bug him.”

Tony’s comment of “Let the man dance!” was cut short by Natasha.

“Is it the girl or the dance that he likes?”

Steve stared at the ballroom floor, watching the mark drift by, “um...the dance?”

“Alright Cap, we got this,” Clint interrupted, “Keep an eye on the door.”

Steve nodded absently, only to meet the eye of a older woman in a very bold dress. She smiled, reminding him of a lion stalking it’s prey. He strolled towards the nearest buffet; he was never going to get used to this sort of attention.

“Stark, put in a request.”

“Sure thing, Red. What’s the mood?”

Was Natasha going to ask the mark to dance? Was it acceptable for women to ask men? If that were true he needed to be a lot more careful.

“Tango.”

Pretending to check his phone, Steve ducked behind two men who were even larger than he was --  bodyguards who weren’t bothering to blend in. But he supposed, the event was for members of the illegal arms trade.

At the sound of polite applause as the orchestra finished, Steve strolled towards the other end of the ballroom. He needed to keep the entrance and the mark in sight. Fashionably late was one thing, but it was nearly two hours into the event. If this meeting did not happen, and if they didn’t bug the mark, it would set them back considerably.

The mark bowed to his partner, clapping along with the rest, he was not in a hurry to go anywhere. A waiter stepped in his line of sight and Steve accepted another glass of champagne --at least it gave him something to do. So far, being undercover was far more stressful than an actual mission.

The orchestra began again, the metered waltz replaced by an exaggerated violin and a quick tempo. It was unlike anything Steve had heard before. Clearly Tony’s request had been accepted. At least something was happening. Spotting the older woman again, Steve drifted closer to the entrance.

Tony whistled into his mic, “wow, might have to request a private dance -- unless you two want to leave early.”

Steve rolled his eyes. What the hell was the man talking about now? Turning towards the ballroom floor, he finally realized how quiet it had become. Everyone was focused on the ballroom floor. Sliding between other guests, Steve realized why.

Natasha and Barton had stolen the dance floor.

With a flourish of her red gown, Natasha spun out of Clint’s arms, only to snap back into them a moment later. With a dramatic pause the two spies kicked out a leg, nose to nose. And then Natasha was spinning again, almost too quick to believe. She froze on a dime, dress fluttering around her legs, arms above her head. The spy responded in kind, catching Natasha around the waist, only to run his hands down her sides with an exaggerated flourish.

The beat hit and the to spies moved as one, simultaneously clinging and twisting around the other in a way that left no room for imagination.

So this was the tango.

Steve swallowed; it was a mating dance, there was no other way to describe it.

Hand on his chest, Natasha pushed Clint away, both pairs of feet stepping in time. But he caught her a moment later, and on the beat he dipped her back, her hair brushing the floor. With another impossible spin, she was back on her feet, posing seductively.

The whole room was entranced. The mark spun by with his own partner, but he too was enraptured by the spectacle.

With a devilish grin, Nat danced out of Clint's reach again. Again and again she ignored his advances, teasing him with the sashay of her skirt. As soon as Clint came forward, she would retreat, their steps always perfectly in time. Finally Clint caught her and the two paused again, hands wrapped tightly around the other.

The two matched their steps with the beat until Natasha froze, throwing her head back. And then she was leaning backwards, dragging her heeled foot up Clint's body until it rested on his shoulder. His hand ran up her thigh and then he was dragging her back, somehow rolling her under his legs. People gasped as he lifted her, spinning in place. She landed delicately, grinning coquettishly. The slit of her gown fell back exposing her leg as she wrapped it around Clint’s waist. Steve blushed. An intense longing filled his chest and he had to look away.

Where had that come from?

Berating himself he surveyed the room, trying to focus on the mission. But the buyer had still not arrived and he was already turning back to the dance floor. Clint clapped his hands with the tempo and Natasha shimmied, flaring her skirt with a laugh. He knew that laugh. It was not her cover, it was pure Natasha.

The music slowed and the two spies pressed against each other, exaggerating their matching kicks. Slowly, painfully so, Nat dipped backwards, her leg rising as a counterbalance. Pulling her up, she snapped back into Clint’s embrace as the music came to an end. Applause filled the room and the spies held the pose, her leg wrapped around his waist once again.

Blushing red, Natasha giggled and spun out of his grip, embarrassed by the attention. Kissing her hand, Clint bent to whisper in her ear.

"So?"

"So, you are coming back to mine,” Stark responded, “I want a private dance, you too Legolas."

Steve froze, his reprimand of Stark catching in his throat.

Nat snickered, making it appear like Clint had said something funny.

"Somehow I doubt Pepper would be into that."

"Is that a no?" Stark sounded completely serious, Steve couldn't believe it.

The music began again, this time something slower.

"Focus, guys. The mark is coming over."

The two spies remained completely composed, still looking like any other couple.

"Be gentle." Clint teased and Natasha playfully swatted his arm.

And then the mark was there, easily stepping in front of Clint. The two spies fell back into character and the mark fell easily into their trap. A moment later Clint was leaving the dance floor looking disappointed. With an ostentatious bow the mark led Nat back onto the floor.

"Hook, line and sinker." Clint said confidently, still maintaining the look of a stilted lover.

"Barton, you in?"

"Tony," Steve growled, "focus."

Clint took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, "If you get Nat and Pepper to agree, than sure, I'm in."

The dulcet tone of Nat speaking french filled the comms.

"What's she saying?"

"Hold on," Clint paused, "only getting half the conversation."

Loosening his clenched fist, Steve wandered further into the crowd. Someone had to keep a look out for the buyer.

Nat chattered away, sounding entirely like a drunk french heiress.

Clint snorted, "the man is so predictable it's an insult to the whole black market community. He just told her his room number -- 564, which may come in handy, and informed her that he is remaining for two more nights."

Steve relaxed his posture, but it was a struggle, "do we believe that?"

Stark snorted, "hell yeah, this man wants to get laid. Tell me, Barton, where did you learn to dance so well?”

Clint hummed, “Circus. I was the stand in for the quick-change act for a few years. Good thing Nat was leading, I forgot a lot.”

"Stark."

But Tony wasn’t phased, “Yeah, yeah. Oh, JARVIS has picked up some new faces, I think it's our man. Running face recognition now."

Surveying the entrance, Steve nodded grimly, "it's him. With three friends, as far as I can tell. Nat, if you haven't already, bug him."

There was no response from the spy, but he wasn't expecting one. Instead he made his way to the far window. The buyer was dressed to the nines, but he still looked out of place. Overweight and scruffy, the arms dealer did not seem happy to be there.

"Alright, split up. We rendezvous at 0100. Somebody get Nat away from the mark."

Tony snickered, "this guy is smitten, doesn't want to leave our little spider.”

The feed was interrupted by Nat, french rolling off her tongue. Steve caught a few words, but not enough to translate. He waited for Clint.

“Yeah, Nat’s right. Tony should pick her up. As a celebrity he will be a credible threat. Keep the mark distracted.”

Steve had to agree, “how do you -- alright. Tony move in. The buyer is looking anxious anyway.”

But Tony was already on the move, making his way towards the dance floor. Steve risked looking back.

The mark was not happy to be interrupted. And even moreso that his date was clearly enraptured by the famous and wealthy celebrity. But he bowed out and Tony cleanly swept Nat onto the floor.

"Mademoiselle, how wonderfully you dance."

Nat maintained her facade, thankfully switching back to english.

"This is not actually why we're here, you know."

He could see Tony grinning, "no way am I passing this up. Not after that display."

"Stark," Steve growled, watching the mark make his way to the buyer.

"Suck it Cap, you can dance with Red next mission."

Steve snapped his mouth shut. Tugging at the collar of his military uniform, Steve headed out the entrance. His role was over, the rest he could do from the hotel room.

“0100, team.”

It was only in the limo did he realize that his phone was crushed, finger shaped grooves bending the black metal rectangle. 

Shit.

* * *

[ ](http://imgur.com/zlZbOml)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea writing a dance scene would be so damn hard. Hopefully it makes sense.
> 
> Also, I will soon be adding Clint and Natasha's version of her defection and other little moments between the spies :-)
> 
> thanks for the comments! I love them all soooo much


	6. Chapter 6

Steve was headed out of the DC headquarters when he spotted a familiar face. Pepper Potts and Happy were waiting at the elevators, but she quickly met him in the entrance. How she was able to walk on such tiny heels, and so quickly, he would never know.

“Steve, Hello!”

He smiled at the redhead, “you waiting on Tony? I didn’t think he was here today.”

Pepper shook her head, “no, no, I came to speak with Agent Hill. She runs the... I suppose you would call it, publicity, for the Avengers. And since I handle Tony’s, we find it best to stay on the same page.”

The woman tilted her head, “speaking of, what have you decided about your own publicity?”

Steve shrugged, “I haven’t done anything. Should I be?”

The woman was suddenly all business, waving him towards the elevator, “if you have a moment?”

Nodding, he followed her into the elevator that Happy was holding.

Repositioning her purse in her arms, she smiled up at him, “as a celebrity you should really consider having a publicist. I imagine SHIELD has someone running interference but things have changed since the battle. Your return to the world was extremely public.”

Steve felt like an idiot, “why do I need a publicist?”

The elevator came to a halt, and the three stepped out.

“Here, we can chat until she arrives.” She tapped a code into the keypad of an empty conference room, waving him inside. Happy nodded at him to follow.

The head of Stark industries was already sitting at the table, pulling out a plethora of computers and tablets from her purse.

“Sit, sit, please,” Pepper swiped at a tablet in front of her, and a glowing keyboard appeared on the glass table.

He sat across from her, “you think I need a publicist.”

She nodded only to blush a moment layer, “you can certainly do it yourself if you like! But I just thought, now that you work for SHIELD, and leading the Avengers, and as a celebrity in general, it would be silly not to have someone do it for you.

Steve shrugged, “I mean, I haven’t been bothered much since the battle.”

“That is because SHIELD, most likely Maria, has been doing damage control.”

“Oh.” Anyone else and it would have sounded condescending. But not coming from Pepper. Steve shifted in his chair, “do the other Avengers have publicists?”

Pepper shook her head, “Only Tony. SHIELD keeps tabs on everyone, of course, but you two were already known as Iron Man and Captain America before the battle.

At the moment, the public doesn’t know much about the Avengers Initiative or its members. You, Tony and Dr. Banner are the only ones that have made the news. Thor is...different, as he is from another planet. And as far as the public knows, was only involved because of Loki. Dr. Banner’s identity as the Hulk is something SHIELD has managed to keep secret since his accident and as such he can live... quietly.”

Steve nodded slowly. He supposed that he did qualify as a celebrity. And recently he had been followed by people wanting his autograph.

“And you would be willing to do this? For me?”

Pepper grinned, “of course! Before I took over for Tony at Stark Industries, that was my job as his assistant. And as you can imagine, he made the news quite often. Still does.”

Steve smirked, that did not surprise him in the slightest.

“Ok, thank you. I accept.”

Nodding, Pepper’s fingers were already flying across the hologrammed keyboard.

“Of course. Now, I will set up a meeting -- officially -- with you sometime later this week so we can go over an official contract, and I can get a read on what sort of events and things you do or don’t want to be apart of. Damage control. Personal life, etc. I know the Smithsonian was planning on centennial exhibition of your role in the war, not sure if that is still happening...”

Steve blinked as the woman continued typing, “uh, sure.”

“You have a cell? I will give you my number. Text or call me anytime, if I don’t answer, just tell JARVIS. You have a Stark tablet? Oh right, I forgot he gave you one. Well, it doubles as an answering machine. So I can leave you messages on it without interrupting you while you are on a mission or something.”

He nodded numbly. Clearly he had the right woman for the job.

The door opened, and he and Pepper turned to see Agent Hill. Rising to his feet, he nodded to both women, “I will get out of your way. Thank’s again, Pepper.”

The redhead smiled sweetly, and then turned her attention to the brunette who had taken his seat. Slipping out of the conference room, he nodded at Happy.

Running a hand through his hair, Steve directed himself back towards the elevator. He still wasn’t sure what had just gone down, but he had complete confidence in Pepper. Afterall, she had been Tony’s publicist so she had probably dealt with everything imaginable.

“You’re somewhere else.”

He didn’t jump, but damn if he didn’t come close. How did this woman always manage to sneak up on him? Steve glared at Natasha, knowing she did it on purpose. She was always trying to test the limits of his serum. Yesterday she had him throwing her as high into the air as possible, trying to perfect the shield maneuver from the battle.

“Oh, uh, Pepper just...she’s my new publicist.”

The redhead grinned, “oh, smart.”

She followed him to the elevators, absently looking at her phone.

“Why don’t you have one?”

Natasha glanced at him, “wouldn’t be much of a spy if the public knew about me. And it’s a good thing they don’t. Wouldn’t like what they found.”

They stepped into the elevator in silence. Steve couldn’t figure out if she said such things because she knew it made him uncomfortable, or if she actually believed them.

“So, how’s the new place?”

He pulled his gaze from the DC skyline, “good. Bigger than anything I’ve ever lived in, nicer too.”

She snickered, “glad to see vet’s benefits aren’t a total lie. Any cute ladies in your building?”

Steve bit back a grin, “a few.”

“Oh? And?”

He glared at her playfully, “and nothing. I’m ok on my own. Didn’t date much before...it’s not on the top of my list at the moment. When the right girl comes along, then I’ll make a move.”

She shook her head, “Rogers, you amaze me. It’s like you’re trying to be the ultimate fantasy.”

He blushed, grateful that the elevator had reached the main floor.

They both stepped out into the main lobby and Natasha paused.

“I’m gonna be away next week, but after I want to see your new place. Until then, why don’t you ask out the girl on the third floor. The one with the black lab? She seems fun.”

With a devilish smile, Natasha slipped into the crowd, leaving him frozen in place, mouth agape. Eventually Steve laughed, and finally made his way out of headquarters. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised anymore. Reaching his bike, Steve decided to spend the rest of the daylight exploring his new city.

* * *

 

“Would it be unprofessional to say that Red here dances like a vixen?”

Steve grit his teeth, “yes.”

Tony stared down at the paper in his hands, and sighed loudly. The mission had gone smoothly, even if they had yet to find the buyer’s stock of alien weaponry. Their next mission was going to be soon, but SHIELD still needed a report from the last mission.

“I’ve been reading up on you.”

Steve looked up from their paperwork, glaring at the inventor across from him. Stark was the child who had never been able to sit still. Natasha merely raised a brow.

“Yup, all about your Black Widow program. And I give SHIELD props, they hid the files well. Even the CIA didn’t have as much intel. But I suppose SHIELD has you to thank for that.”

“And?” Natasha invited, “what’s your assessment?”

Steve kept his expression neutral, unsure of what exactly Tony knew.

Tony smirked, “it’s an impressive operation, for sure. But the origin is fascinating. How to take down a super soldier with nothing but your womanly wiles. Classic. And from what I could gather, Black Widows have played a role in some of the most important events in the last sixty years. And that’s only speculation.”

Natasha shrugged, “the Cold War changed how the world fought. It was no longer about troops or battlefields,” she nodded towards himself, “it was about intelligence. Espionage. The arms race. Russia was merely ahead of the game.”

The inventor looked intrigued, “so how accurate was McCarthy’s Red Scare?”

Natasha grinned, but didn’t respond.

“So you joined the Black Widow program while in the KGB? Or before? Or was the KGB agent just a cover?”

Natasha gave him a pointed look, then went back to her report, “I didn’t exactly volunteer.”

Tony made a face, “Right. Communism. Mother Russia.”

“I was already in the Black Widow program when I became a KGB agent. It did become my official title, so in a way it was a cover identity.”

Steve focused on the report. Tried to focus on the report.

“Tony, Nat. Guys, come on.”

But Tony had that damn twinkle in his eye.

“I read about some of your missions. Brutal stuff. But that was as the Black Widow. What about the KGB, did it live up to its reputation? I couldn’t find your name in any of the records, but I assume you were a part of a few operations.”

Nat didn’t look up from the report.

“I was a member of the KGB special forces, Alpha branch. I protected the motherland by any means necessary.”

“Meaning?”

Her tone never changed, “I was an assassin Tony. What do you think?”

The inventor only cocked his head to the side.

“So, after years of dedicated service to the _motherland --_ you just left? Barton appeared and swept you off your feet? Come on. Why did you defect?”

Setting down her pen, Nat faced the inventor, hands folded on the table, “why did you stop manufacturing weapons?”

Steve glanced between the two, somehow the silence grating on his nerves even more. Why did Tony always have to push people’s buttons? Hadn’t he figured out by now that Natasha was not someone to be trifled with?

“Guys--”

“Tell me, are there any famous Black Widows? Some that _did_ make the history books?”

Natasha nodded, “sure, plenty. But no one knew they were Black Widows.”

Tony waited.

She rolled her eyes just as her phone buzzed, “oh, message from the top. Bye boys.”

“What? No!” Tony pouted, “Come on. This was just getting interesting! Give me a name! Something! Did you ever meet Ian Fleming?!”

Natasha laughed as she left the room.

“That’s not an answer!” Tony hollered after her.

The man was oblivious to his glare, instead tapping his pen against the glass table.

“Probably not, she’s too young... when did he die?” the man muttered, and Steve didn’t try and stop him. His phone beeped, and Tony sat up in his chair, eyes wide.

“JARVIS, look up Lyudmila Pavlichenko.”

Giving up on the report, Steve watched at the tv panel lit up with information. The internet was an incredibly useful tool.

“Ah, wiki. My old friend.” Tony waved his hand like a maestro, and somehow the screens followed his bidding. A page of information zoomed in, settling on the first paragraph and a black and white photo.

_Liudmyla Mykhailivna Pavlychenko was a Red Army Ukrainian Soviet sniper during World War II. Credited with 309 kills, she is regarded as one of the top military snipers of all time and the most successful female sniper in history._

* * *

 

Later that day Steve finally caught up with the ex-assassin. It was pure chance. He had just gotten out of the pool, cutting through the gym on his way out. Swimming was something he was still trying to improve on, having never really learned as a child. And as it turned out, having so much extra muscle was not beneficial when trying to float.

They discussed the upcoming Strike Team mission, as usual agreeing on the same tactics. Steve was momentarily distracted by her appearance, enjoying the flush on her skin. But finally he had to ask.

“Tony...Tony said he found the rest of your files about your past. But that’s not true, is it.”

She gave him a sly grin, “what makes you say that?”

“My--your Avengers file,” he fumbled, “there’s stuff in there he didn’t know. I mean, not that I know everything -- but I mean it’s Tony. He’s a bloodhound about stuff like this. How did you keep him...” he trailed off.

Wrapping her hands with tape, Natasha shrugged, “He found everything in the SHIELD database. But you’re right, that’s not everything. The information you’re referring to is kept in a very special place. Where even Stark wouldn’t think to look.”

Nat shifted, stretching out her neck and shoulders, making him wait.

“Tony’s a techie. He can hack anything with a hard drive. So if you want to keep the great Tony Stark from knowing something, well, you do it the old fashioned way. No computers.”

Steve blinked, “you mean there are only paper copies? But he could get hold of a paper copy.” But even as he said it, Steve doubted the words. Sure, Tony could go looking for a paper copy. But would he? The man balked every time he was handed a piece of paper.

Nat grinned.

“And even that’s not everything. The rest,” she tapped her forehead, “is in here. It dies with me.”

Steve resisted the need to refute her with some well-meaning statement. What other burdens did this woman carry?

“Alright, I was just curious,” he shrugged, “Stark doesn’t exactly understand the definition of private.”

Natasha nodded, her green eyes making his breath catch in his throat.

“Thank’s, Rogers. But not to worry, there’s just the one copy. And I know he won’t find it.”

Twirling, she headed towards the bags, as usual, light on her toes. Steve resisted the urge to watch. But he had lingered long enough.

He left HQ deep in thought. It was ridiculous really, her plan. Everyone in this century was obsessed with computers and the internet. Tony had told him a thousand times that there were no secrets once something found its way online. But once again Natasha had used Stark’s ego against him. Sometimes she really did scare him. Between the flirting and the riddles, Natasha certainly kept him on his toes.

Steve had assumed that there were still paper records somewhere in SHIELD. After all, he was always given paper copies. But maybe that was just for his benefit. Maybe Stark was right, maybe he was treated like a senior citizen.

He was in the underground parking lot when her words finally clicked.

One copy. One. In a place Stark would never think to look.

The file sitting innocently in his quarters at HQ.

_Trust me, there isn’t anything in there she doesn’t want you to know._

* * *

“Shit.”

Natasha swearing during a mission wasn’t surprising, but Steve paused nonetheless. Her tone was wrong.

“Nat?”

Jumping on a container, Steve kicked the man off, swiping his gun as he fell.

“These bastards are fast with their little toys,” Clint sounded amused, “two headed your way.”

The darkness was lit up with smoke and the glowing engines of the Chitari flying machines. Luckily the men on them had no idea how to use them, and quite a few had already crashed into the water.

“Stark, how we doing?”

The familiar sound of reactor beams echoed through the metal, “Fine, fine. These guys got quite a little operation running here. Shame to not keep--”

“Stark.” Falling to a knee, Steve shot at the incoming Chitari ship. The man driving it cried out and Steve leaped to another container as the thing crashed.

One more down.

“Nat, are you ok?”

Still no response. Emptying the clip on a lucky man who jumped free of his ship, Steve tossed it and took up his shield. Damn it, why wasn’t she answering?

Leaping over several containers, he ducked and rolled onto the deck. An arrow whizzed past, and a man fell out of a shadowed hole beside him.

“Clint, where’s Nat. She’s not checking in.”

An explosion from below rocked the barge, the few stadium lights remaining swinging wildly. They revealed a figure charging, and Steve flung his shield, sending the man flying. Running after his shield, he narrowly avoided an attack from above. The man hit the deck hard, and Steve easily knocked him out.

“She’s hit, Cap.”

Steve paused, “can she still fight?”

“ _She_ is fine!” Natasha huffed, finally back online. But she had that same tone to her voice, and he finally realized what it was. Pain.

“Nat stand down. Clint?”

He spotted men slinking out of the hatch, strange contraptions strapped to their backs. That did not bode well. Running around a container, Steve waited for them to come closer. He heard their machines powering up and he rolled out to meet them. He surprised the first man with a uppercut. Out cold he fell on his buddy, and Steve ripped at the contraptions on their backs, sparks flying.

“She’s bleeding pretty badly.”

Bullets ricocheted off his shield, but Steve didn’t move. He couldn’t move. Natasha was hurt. A stray bullet nicked his arm and it was enough to make him move. Running towards a busted crate, he jumped on it then onto a container, trying to get his bearings.

“Alright, stay with Nat. We’re almost done here anyway.”

She was quiet and the fear in his gut deepened. Not much kept Natasha Romanoff quiet. Taking a running leap, he sprinted towards the hatch he had seen the men exiting from.

“You all set, Stark?”

The sound of a phaser echoed and then another explosion rippled through the deck.

“Yep, all good here. Red got hit? I didn’t think that was possible.”

As expected the last remaining men bolted out of the hatch after Tony’s explosion. Throwing the nearest figure, Steve ripped the weapon off as he fell.

“Not now, Stark. Go and get the jet.”

Wanting this over, Steve aimed straight down the hole and emptied the clip. Dropping the gun he slammed the hatch shut.

“Where are you guys?”

The sound of phasers grew louder, and a moment later Tony shot out of the hatch, wood shattering.

“Hey, what the--”

But Steve was already running back towards the center of the barge. Grumbling, Iron Man shot past in a burst of light.

“We’re at the bridge. Second deck.”

Strapping his shield in place, Steve bolted through the destroyed remains of the chitari weaponry. Crates and containers were riddled with bullet holes, some crushed so badly they resembled tin foil. Leaping on the closest one, he swung his body towards the outer railing of the command deck stairway. Landing on the grated steps, he bolted up the next flight.

Twenty feet down the walkway he spotted two silhouettes. Barton was bent over Natasha, and she didn’t seem to be moving. His blood went cold.

Pulling back his cowl, he somehow found himself at her feet. There was only a patch of light, but Steve didn’t need to see that it was bad. Barton’s hands were red and he was pressing down on her stomach.

“Shit, Nat!”

She leaned against the wall, teeth clenched, but managed to give him a half smile. It didn’t make him feel better.

“What--”

Barton hummed, “ribcage. I don’t think it’s that bad, considering.”

Steve was cut off by the sudden rush of wind and Tony’s voice in their comms.

“Jet’s here. Let’s get moving.”

Barton nodded at him, and Steve carefully scooped her into his arms, the archer keeping his hand pressed on the wound. Once they had maneuvered her into the jet did Clint break free, quickly pulling out the medical bed and various other materials. Steve felt Natasha groan and then her head fell back.

“Shit, she’s out.”

Steve tried not to panic, instead gently setting her on the bed. The ramps closed and all was quiet. And then they were moving. Barton was ripping open various first aid packets with his teeth, one hand pressing a bandage over her wound. It was already soaked.

“Strip down and then hold this for me,” Clint nodded to the wound and Steve hurried to obey. The man didn’t seem worried and Steve forced himself to do the same. Hanging his shield, he dropped his gloves on the nearest bench, feeling overly warm.

Nodding, Clint replaced the gauze and Steve pressed his hand firmly in place.

“Fuck, why didn’t she something sooner?”

Clint looked up, “Nat? I’m surprised she even admitted it.”

Wiping his hands, Clint carefully pulled back an eyelid, then moved his hands to gently feel her scalp. Steve couldn’t help but notice how the archer also brushed the hair from her face.

“No head wound as far as I can tell. That’s good.”

Steve stared at him, “it’s ok that she’s unconscious?”

The man nodded, “yeah, I think it’s just shock.”

Shock. From a bullet? Her?

But the archer was moving again, carefully pulling her utility belt from her waist.

“Here, unstrap her gun and get her other glove off, but be careful you don’t get shocked.”

Steve gently lifted his hand, the gauze sticking to his hand, heavy with blood. He shook it off, letting it fall to the floor with the rest of them.

Her holster was tight against her thigh, and Steve was grateful that it simply unhooked. Her glove was trickier, dried blood on the palm had made it stiff and unyielding. But it came off, and he gently placed her arm back on the bed. Then he heard the sound of a zipper.

Steve froze, eyes inching upwards.

“Here, keep pressure while I get her out of this.”

Somehow Steve moved, taking the offered gauze, watching as Clint carefully pulled Nat’s arm out of the catsuit.

“Ok, go.”

Swallowing, he forced himself to breathe, his hand slipping under the catsuit and pressing down on her warm skin. God, what was he doing? This was his friend and partner. He needed to stay focused.

“Do you feel anything? Swelling? Here, switch with me.”

Steve pulled his hand free and walked around the bed. One half of her was exposed, revealing pale skin and a black brassiere. Ever so gently the archer lifted Nat’s torso, tugging the other sleeve off before setting her back down on the bed.

Lifting the gauze, he was glad to see that the bleeding had slowed.

“Slight swelling. Maybe bruising? It’s hard to tell.”

Clint nodded, “alright, tape the bandage down. The bullet didn’t go through so this is all we can do for now.”

Spotting the medical tape, Steve gently taped the gauze in place. Nodding, the archer grabbed the emergency blanket and draped it over the redhead. The tightness in his chest returned.

“ETA?”

Tony glanced back, “twenty.”

Nodding, Clint ripped open another bag and wiped his hands with the cloth inside. Tossing it over, Steve was surprised that it was already damp. More than ready to get her blood off, he quickly scrubbed his hands. The archer dropped onto the bench beside the bed, but he stretched out, unconcerned with what had happened. Steve wasn’t sure if that made him feel better.

A wave of exhaustion hit, and Steve stumbled over to the bench opposite. He balled his fists, trying to get them to stop shaking. He had gotten injured plenty of time. All of them had. This was ridiculous. Natasha was going to be fine.

Exhaling, Steve found himself staring at her prostrate body nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alpha branch of the KGB is real and totally freaky (look it up)
> 
> Ian Fleming was the author of the James Bond novels.
> 
> And yes, Lyudmila Pavlichenko was a real person. It was too perfect not to make her into a Widow. lol
> 
> um, kinda unsure of how Pepper turned out. Hope you like her.
> 
> oh, and the men they were fighting at the end? They are a part of Vulture's workshop (from Spiderman homecoming) Not sure if that's clear
> 
> oh and Nat is wearing a sports bra under her catsuit. I wasn't sure how to add that detail, 'cause I doubt Steve would know what it was. But it was bugging me, so now you know.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry, a bit shorter than normal...  
> But we are getting super close to an appearance by the Winter Soldier!

Medical crew were already waiting on the tarmac when Tony landed the quinjet. It was the brisk night air or maybe the medical cot as it moved down the ramp, but Natasha finally opened her eyes. Clint was immediately by her side, grasping her hand tightly, ignoring the medics as they scrambled around. She answered their questions easily, but her face was still pale and drawn. Steve followed behind at a distance.

The spies were speaking softly in Russian. And whatever she was saying, Clint was determined to convince her otherwise. Steve had never seen her upset before, and it shook him to the bone. He felt so helpless, watching as Clint tried to soothe the redhead. The archer’s attention seemed almost fatherly.

It was a foolish reaction, but it made Steve angry. The injury was not life threatening, the medics were confident in that fact. And he knew she had taken worse hits. So why was Nat so shaken? What was going on? What didn’t he know?

The doors to HQ were flung open and Nat was quickly rolled down the hall towards the hospital bay. Clint called out to her once more in Russian but did not follow.

It took all of Steve’s self control to remain calm as he waited for the archer to turn around.

“What was that back there?”

He should have known Clint wouldn’t be intimidated.

“What d'ya mean? You’ve seen her take worse hits.”

Steve nodded, “yes I have. And she’s never reacted that way.”

The archer sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was only a split second, but Steve swore the man look worried.

“Cap, she’s not perfect. She’s got PTSD just like the rest of us. And this...this was just unlucky. It brought up bad memories. And considering everything she’s been through...” Clint shrugged, “honestly, I’m just glad she followed protocol and got out of sight. That’s a first for her.”

Steve took a step back, surprised and ashamed. Swallowing his temper, he nodded,

“Alright, if you’re sure she’s ok.”

Clint nodded, “oh yeah. She’s gonna be embarrassed more than anything. Especially since Tony was there.”

Steve smiled, knowing that was the correct response. But as he watched the archer leave, his thoughts drifted back to Natasha. Of course he knew she wasn’t perfect. Wasn’t he allowed to be worried? She was his partner and friend. And this behavior was not at all like her.

But was it really PTSD, or was Clint being evasive?

Dr. Patel had mentioned the disorder to him several times now, but Steve wasn’t sure what to make of it. Sure, the war had been terrible. He had seen terrible things, done terrible things. He had ended people’s lives, and sometimes the memories kept him up at night. But that was normal, it was a reminder of his duties, that next time he would do better. He was a soldier and he accepted that reality.

But Clint had implied that the whole team had PTSD and that irked him. Steve did not have it. And from what he knew of Clint’s past, it didn’t seem like would. He paused, maybe Dr. Banner. But who else?

Tony had been different since New York. He would disappear to California and Pepper, only to reappear in New York days later, strung out on caffeine. He kept trying to pick fights, and so far had pissed everyone off at one point. Although, even then Natasha had remained cool. She really did not seem to mind every time Tony wanted a battle of wits. He on the other hand, was trying his best to be patient, but sometimes the man rubbed him the wrong way. Yeah, Stark probably had it.

But Steve did not have some disorder. Survivor’s guilt was one thing, but that was just a form of mourning. And besides, he had finally accepted Bucky’s death. As Dr. Patel had pointed out, even if Bucky hadn’t fallen from the train, Steve still would have ended up diving into the sea and never seeing him again. Of course he missed his best friend, but Steve no longer blamed himself for the train incident. That was foolish.

But Natasha was the strongest person he knew. Her past was awful, he couldn’t deny that, but she seemed so together now. And to see her taken down by something that was all in her head? It broke his heart.

Somehow his feet had traced back to his private quarters and Steve gladly punched in the code. There was blood on the sleeves of his uniform and he needed to get the thing off.

He would check on Natasha tomorrow.

* * *

 

As it turned out Fury had a mission for the Strike Team the next morning. An old Hydra base had suddenly become active and they needed to shut it down.

It was weird not having Natasha by his side, but Steve had been impressed with Agent Rumlow. Steve had taken the team and explored the base, taking out anyone they saw, while Rumlow had taken Nat’s role of technical sabotager.

As it turned out, the men were a neo-nazi group, an “army” that wanted to take down SHIELD and other ‘impure regimes’. It was ridiculous. And most of them had dropped their guns as soon as they saw him in uniform. The base itself was nothing but empty rooms and dusty hallways -- not exactly a threat. Rumlow had shut down their computer system and the Strike Team had left the ‘army’ for the local authorities.

While it hadn’t come close to tiring him out, Steve felt somewhat calmer as the quinjet flew back to HQ. But that feeling had disappeared as soon as he had made it to medical.

Natasha had requested no visitors. The doctor had been quite nervous telling him, but Steve had simply nodded and turned around. Once again this was not the actions of the Natasha Romanoff he knew. And a part of him, a bitter, loathing part, knew that Clint had been exempt. Just thinking of the two spies had his blood pressure rising.

If several of the punching bags in the gym had taken his frustration, no one was the wiser.

Ultimately it would be three long days before Steve saw Natasha again.

* * *

 

Her laughter echoed down the hallway, hitting Steve like a wave. It took all of his self control not to burst into the common room, instead keeping his pace steady and calm.

Pushing open the door, he was immediately comforted by the sight of her red hair. She turned on the couch and flashed him an easy grin. Barton and Banner were at the kitchenette talking, and Tony lounged on the opposite couch, staring at a tablet.

“Hey, thought I heard you.”

Nat shrugged, sipping a cup of coffee.

“Yeah, I’m back. One more moment in medical and I was going to strangle someone.”

Steve grinned, feeling the tension in his back release. He was disappointed that he wasn’t able to see her privately, but immediately brushed that thought away. Coming around the couch, he dropped into the nearest chair.

“Stark, feet off the table.”

The inventor looked up from his tablet, eyebrows raised.

Rolling his own eyes, Steve glanced at the kitchenette, “Dr. Banner, when did you arrive?”

The man somehow always managed to look nervous, but he smiled, wandering over to sit on the couch with Tony.

“I uh, have a conference in the next few days, so I thought I’d stop by.”

“Yep,” Tony grinned, “and then I am stealing him away. Got some big ideas cookin’. Speaking of,” he glanced at Natasha, “you still aren’t at all tempted? Think of the possibilities.”

The redhead rolled her eyes, “No, thanks Tony. It’s a cracked rib, nothing I can’t handle.” Catching his eye, Nat jutted her chin at Stark, “he want’s to give me a metal ribcage.”

“No!” the inventor looked pained, “no I want to add a metal brace to your ribs. I’ve been toying with the idea for a while now. You would be an ideal subject.”

Steve glanced between them, “do I want to know?”

It was Dr. Banner who answered.

“Actually it’s a rather old idea, and not just for healing broken bones but for aiding those who might have bone loss due to age or disease. A thin exoskeleton of metal... nothing extreme, of course.”

Tony sat up, eyes bright, “but I did hear of this one--”

Nat stood up and immediately Steve was on his feet, reaching for her arm, “what are you doing?”

The red head rolled her eyes, “I’m not gonna break, Steve. Just want some more coffee.”

Steve lowered his hands, “should you be walking? Don’t ribs take a while to heal?”

She ignored him and headed towards the kitchenette, stopping to speak with Barton.

“Yes,” Dr. Banner nodded, “cracked bones are actually more time consuming than broken bones. Especially in the rib cage, as it is constantly in motion.”

Tony held up his hands, “see? That’s what I’m saying. Just a little--”

Steve watched Nat return, but saw no hint of pain or fragility in her movements.

“I’m fine. And I heal quickly.” She sat back down, tucking a leg under, “don’t even have a scar.”

Natasha felt his gaze, and raised her eyebrow in challenge.

Steve relaxed back in his chair, knowing it would be fruitless to argue, “alright.”

“Alright, come on, what’s the story,” Tony had that damn tone in his voice again, “you passed out, in a mission, from a little bullet wound?”

Fist clenched, Steve shot a glare at the man. Banner glanced at Natasha.

“Disappointed you didn’t see me cry, Stark?”

Tony grinned, “what can I say, I like seeing the cracks in people’s armor.”

Natasha smirked, taking another sip of coffee. Barton had wandered closer, leaning against the back of Nat’s couch, watching the scene with interest.

“There’s no need to be manly like Cap’ here, you can admit if you cried.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “why is it always about me?”

Tony shrugged, “you are a prime example of the heteronormative, manly man of a day gone era. I bet you haven’t cried since childhood. Maybe a funeral, since that's, you know, 'acceptable'.”

Steve pursed his lips, “you don’t know that.”

The man laughed, “Please, Cap’, you are a walking stereotype, it’s not hard to guess. But newsflash, men are allowed to cry now. Even crazy scary assassin’s are allowed to cry. It’s healthy,” he elbowed Banner in the side, “cathartic. You know what I mean.”

The doctor stumbled for a response.

Nat cocked her head to the side, “does my being a woman factor into this?”

“Hardly,” Tony waved his hand, “or maybe it’s because you’re a woman that you feel the need to overcompensate. Can’t be the weeping woman stereotype, so you become the emotionless bitch instead.”

Steve froze, “Tony!”

Tony never took his eyes off of the spy, “I bet you’ve cried less than Rogers, here. I bet you know exactly the last time you cried.”

Iron Man and Black Widow stared at each other, horns locked, daring the other to cave first. Why did it always come to this? Steve opened his mouth, ready to chastise them both.

“November 3rd, 2009.”

He was not the only one staring at Nat in surprise. Banner and Stark looked equally shocked. But she only shrugged, taking another sip of coffee.

Stark barked out a laugh, “I knew it! And before that...?”

For a moment, Natasha’s expression softened and it was not the reaction Steve expected. She acquiesced, with a tiny nod of her head.

“October 11th, 2003.”

Barton turned away, but not before Steve saw the same look in his eyes. Clint knew. Whatever incident she referred to, he knew exactly what it was. That same awful feeling returned, that ridiculous green monster. God, it was getting more and more difficult to deny his attraction to Natasha Romanoff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I love pitting Tony and Nat against each other? I don't even mean for it to happen. But if anyone is gonna be intrusive about Nat's past, it would be him.  
> Also, Cap's misunderstanding of PTSD is foreshadowing CA:CW (and how I'm gonna fix that shit)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who wrote another chapter instead of working on her thesis??  
> That's right. This chica

Already berating himself, Steve nonetheless found himself back in his private quarters, staring down at Natasha’s file. Returning again and again to look up her past whenever she dropped hints was not good behavior. It was cowardly and unprofessional.

Rolling his eyes at his own weakness, Steve gave into the temptation.

Sitting at the tiny desk, he carefully flipped through the packet, wondering where to start. Recalling what Clint had said about the gunshot wound bringing up “bad memories” Steve assumed she had been similarly injured. Her online records would be more informative, but there had to be something here.

According to the stapled front page, the medical history included any major casualties up until the year 2011. The list was thin, which didn’t surprise him. Natasha was far too talented to have many injuries that qualified as major. The first account was from her defection and he brushed by it. But the year 2003 only had one major casualty and it had occurred in early February. The mission was blacked out, but both she and Clint had suffered from concussions and smoke inhalation.

Whatever had happened to Natasha in October of 2003, it had not been the result of an injury.

Sighing, Steve flipped past several more reports until he got to one marked 2009. Nat had broken her collar bone in July and suffered from multiple stab wounds. His skin prickled at the thought and he hastily turned the page.

There it was. A medical report dated November 5th, 2009. She had been on a solo mission. Nat was escorting a defector back to the U.S. when they had been attacked en route. The defector had died, but Nat had managed to send a distress signal. A nearby agent had come to her aid.

_Agent Bigelow arranged for BW to be taken to a hospital in [XXXXXXX] where she was treated for a bullet wound to the lower stomach. BW arrival and surgery occurred at 1530 local time, overseen by Agent Bigelow. HE [ICE] was at HQ when Bigelow notified SHIELD and took a quinjet to [XXXXXXX], landing at aprox. 2200 local time. HE removed BW from hospital at 0500. Agents landed at HQ at 0600 local time, November 4th._

Steve read over the paragraph again in frustration. Nat had been shot and Clint had brought her home. But what had happened? What was it that made this incident so disastrous? Steve thought back to her passing out in his arms and shuddered. This had to be the incident that had brought up her PTSD. But what was it?

Shoving the folder closed, he tipped back in his chair, counting back from one hundred as Dr. Patel suggested. But his blood pressure would not go down.

This was snooping, there was no other way to put it. And yet Steve wasn’t ashamed enough to stop. Medical reports did not have the answer, that meant he would have to go onto the SHIELD database.

Growling at his own selfish desires, Steve pushed away from the desk and marched over to the Stark Tablet on the table.

“JARVIS, please look up mission briefings from October 2003.”

The Tablet glowed, the blue circle spinning, “of course, Sir. There are approximately eighty-two mission briefings from October, 2003.”

Steve watched as the pages lined up on the tablet glass.

“Ok, just mission briefings from Nata-- Black Widow and Hawkeye.”

The circle spun again, pages falling away until only a few remained.

“There are three mission briefings from October 2003 that are listed under Black Widow and Hawkeye. Black Widow also has one solo mission, dated October 2nd.”

Picking up the tablet, Steve brushed his fingers over the glass, watching the pages flutter by.

“Delete that one. Leave the rest.”

“Of course, Sir.”

None of the reports had the date of October 11th. The closest report was dated the 17th, but wait -- he checked again. The mission had taken place the week before. Eyes wide, Steve doubled tapped the page

The mission had occurred from the 7th to the 10th. But again Steve was at a loss. It had been nothing but a standard op. He read the report twice, to no avail. Then he noticed the postscript.

 

_Agent HE requests post-mission SL for himself and BW. Request granted._

_-N. Fury_

 

The request was dated the 7th, before the mission. And it had been personally signed by Fury.

Steve reread the vague statement, wondering why it stuck out to him. It was normal for agents to take a shore leave and a week was a standard amount of time. And besides, the two agents often took leave’s together. It was why there were so many rumors about a secret relationship. Fury’s signature was odd, but also not inexplainable. After all, it was only a year into Nat’s defection, and possibly her first leave. So why did this strike him as odd?

God, just thinking of what he didn't know was giving him a headache.

“Alright, thanks JARVIS.”

The pages disappeared.

“Of course, Sir. Anything else?”

Steve shook his head, “no.”

He stared at the tablet a moment longer, then swore. The gym was what he needed -- a workout so tiring that his brain would stop fixating on Natasha. She was his friend and partner. Fixating on those two words instead, Steve left his quarters, counting down from one hundred.

* * *

 

Camera’s flashed and Steve smiled into the dazzling lights, feeling like he was back in the USO.

And then came the questions.

When had he taken an interest in art. What did he think of the contemporary art scene. Did he know the artist beforehand. Had he brought a date. Was he dating. What was he doing for this coming holiday season. What was he wearing. Had he brought his shield.

Stepping forward, he repeated the statement Pepper had prepared for him, smiling and signing a few autographs. He was free to answer any of the questions, but she advised him to keep steering the conversation back to the show.

God, he hated this. It felt exactly like the USO, even if he was wearing a tuxedo instead of tights. But at least then he had been on stage with other people.

Thankfully Tony decided to make his entrance, Pepper on his arm, and the attention was no longer on him. Slipping inside the gallery, Steve made sure to stay far from the windows. It was quieter inside, as the few invited guests took their time to explore. A few smiled at him and asked for a photo, but largely he was being left alone, for which he was grateful.

He and Pepper had been granted a private viewing yesterday, but Steve was happy to get another look at the art. The young artist had taken photo’s and blown them up onto large canvases. He had then painted over them, sometimes adding minor details or changing the scenes entirely with flashy oil paints. The additions were humorous and thoughtful, and Steve had immediately liked them.

Tony’s laughter announced his arrival into the gallery and Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes. The man was keyed up from the paparazzi, the loud tenor voice echoing through the small gallery. But he had come to support Pepper, and Steve could find no fault in that. Currently he was answering the questions of a brunette in a dark green dress, hands flailing as he told a story. Pepper was with the artist, chatting by the buffet. The kid looked very composed, considering Steve had seen him throw up earlier.

Strolling casually, he finally spotted the work that had caught his attention last night. An elderly couple stood before it, whispering to themselves, and Steve took a passing glass of champagne. When they moved on to the next work, Steve immediately took their place.

It was entitled “Holy" and Steve could see why. The photo depicted a destroyed and debris littered street of New York City after the battle. The air was thick with dust, with only scattered beams of light breaking through. Over this, the kid had painted the outline of the Notre Dame cathedral in a light shade of lavender. The impasto lay thick on the canvas, as if he had used his thumb to quickly sketch the image before it disapearred.

It reminded of the war, he realized faintly. When he and the Commandos had walked through the destroyed villages of Europe. Some of the villages had been around since the middle ages, tiny stone vhouses that looked like they had come from a storybook. And with one foul swipe, the war had obliterated them all.

Someone bumped his shoulder and Steve quickly shot his hand out, apologizing. It was the young woman who had been speaking with Tony, blushing as she too apologized. As pretty as she was, Steve hoped she hadn’t come over for a photo or an autograph. But she was quiet, stepping closer to read the label and then back again.

Steve finished his champagne and let his arm fall to his side, content to simply stare at the work. How had the kid known to do this? Steve could draw fairly well, but this took a completely different skill set. The lavender paint, the simple outline of the cathedral, it somehow stood out from the photo yet enhanced it at the same time. It fit perfectly. 

“You’re somewhere else.”

Steve nearly dropped his champagne flute. The brunette woman winked at him, and like a switch, she was no longer a stranger.

“Nat?”

She grinned. “boo.”

Steve was sure his jaw had hit the ground. Natasha was completely transformed. Her body language, hell her facial expressions -- all of it was different.

“It’s a wig, Rogers. And contacts. Nothing fancy.” Nat smirked, sipping her champagne as she casually looked around. But he couldn't help but stare. It wasn’t just her hair and eyes, her skin had a light tan and even her figure had changed.

“How...how did you?” Steve swallowed, “damn, Nat. I had no idea.”

She smirked, “neither did Tony.”

A waiter passed by and Steve gratefully got rid of his champagne flute.

“What...why are you here?”

Nat wandered over to another work, sipping her champagne as if her she hadn’t heard him. Feeling like a fool, he followed.

“Boredom, mostly. And as for the disguise? I gotta keep under the radar. There are two Avengers here, meaning lots of photos.” God, it was bizarre hearing Nat’s voice come out of another woman, “and besides, I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Steve felt his whole face flush.

“well, um...thanks, Nat.”

She nudged his side playfully, “of course.”

He tore his eyes away, trying to focus on the art, realizing they were in public. A couple drifted over, eagerly shaking his hand, and just like that Natasha disappeared into the background. The senator and his wife were kind enough, and seemed honestly interested in the artist's work, already putting two aside for their private collection.

Making his excuses, he tried to act casual as he made his way over to the bar, keeping a lookout for Natasha. Taking another glass of champagne, Steve scanned the small gallery. How the hell did she manage to disappear? Nodding politely to a passing couple, Steve spotted the hint of a green dress.

She was back in front of “Holy”.

He strolled up to her side, double checking to be sure it was in fact Natasha.

“This is your favorite, huh?”

He nodded, “it reminds me of...of the war. Which shouldn’t make me nostalgic, but it does.”

Nat nodded slowly, “that’s what art’s supposed to do, right?”

He smiled, only to pause and reread the label.

“2001? I thought it was an image of the battle.”

Brown eyes met his, and she shook her head, “no. No, this is from 9/11.”

Steve stepped back, staring at the work again. He knew what she was talking about, he had read about it during his crash-course of history he had missed. But Steve also knew that just like his memories of the war, it was still a sensitive topic. 

No wonder it had reminded him of the war.

A warm hand slipped around his arm and Steve was pulled from his memories. Natasha gently pulled him away, casually sipping at her champagne, allowing him to adjust. As they neared the center of the gallery, they found Tony chatting with an older gentleman who was clearly not enjoying what he was hearing.

Nat’s hand slipped from his arm, instantly falling back into her disguise. A shy brunette stood in her place.

“Wanna see how long I can fool Tony?”

He laughed, the weight on his chest disappearing, “yes. Yes, I really do.”

* * *

Steve wasn’t sure if it was the serum, the ‘global warming’ issue, or just DC, but this winter was not nearly as harsh as he remembered them being. There hadn’t been that much snowfall which made him sad, after all, what was Christmas without snow? He, Bucky, and the other neighborhood kids would spend hours out in the snowbanks playing -- at least until he would start coughing and shivering and end up in bed for the next two days. But that was an essential childhood experience, and he hoped things like that still occurred in this century.

His phone rang, interrupting his musings, and Steve paused to pull it from his jacket pocket. It was still weird to have a portable telephone, but at least he no longer jumped out of his skin when it rang.

He glanced at the number, and recognized it as a secure SHIELD line.

“Hello?”

“Captain Rogers, Fury would like you to come in for a debriefing.” Fury’s assistant, James, if he remembered correctly, didn’t sound alarmed, but it was unusual for Fury to bother calling. Especially since Steve normally came to HQ around this time anyway.

“I am about five minutes away.”

“Very good, Sir. Good bye.”

The phone clicked off and Steve started walking again, wondering if he should hurry. The streets of DC were busy with Christmas shoppers and workers on their lunch break. He would only make a scene running through the crowds, and while the public knew he lived in the city, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

A family wandered past, taking up the entirety of the sidewalk with their buggy and overloaded shopping bags. A boy, no more than eight years old, was chatting animatedly to his dad, his Captain America backpack nearly dwarfing him.

Nodding politely, Steve stepped into the road as they passed, hiding a grin as the boy did a double take. Unaware, his father pulled the boy along, telling him to keep up. Steve winked, enjoying his blush, and turned back onto the sidewalk.

Christmas was nearly here and according to Pepper, Captain America merchandise were the most popular items on the market. There had already been several cases of companies using his image without permission, and while Steve didn’t really see a problem with that, Pepper had quickly resolved the issue. She had also arranged it so the majority of the profits went into children’s charities, Steve keeping only a small percentage. That was another reason why he liked Pepper so much. The press called her philanthropic, but Steve knew it was simply a natural consideration for others. Lately Tony had been acting more irrational than normal, and for Pepper’s sake, Steve prayed the man got himself figured out. Tony would not find a better partner than in Pepper Potts. Why the man hadn’t married her yet, he could not guess.

The chill of the December air was abruptly cut off as he stepped inside the SHIELD tower, and he dropped Tony from his thoughts. Glancing at his watch, he was pleased to see that his five minute estimate had been too long. It had only taken three minutes.

Punching the elevator button, he used his keycard to commandeer the glass box for himself. It instantly brought him to the proper floor, where only top SHIELD agents were allowed. Dropping his hat and jacket in the common area Steve continued straight to Fury’s office.

James waved him on, hardly glancing up from his computer. Through the opaque glass Steve made out two more figures, Natasha and Clint. Pulling open the door, he slid inside, Fury nodding at him from his desk.

Coming to stand between the spies, Steve was immediately aware of the tension in the room. Nat looked annoyed, arms crossed over her chest, her hard gaze flickering to his before turning back to Fury.

“Hello?”

Fury looked stressed, which was also alarming. The man was almost as hard to read as Natasha. But he nodded in return, gesturing for them all to take a seat. Nat immediately dropped into the nearest chair, back stiff, while Clint remained standing. Leaning against the opaque glass wall, the archer crossed his arms impatiently. Suddenly nervous, Steve sat in the one available chair. What the hell was going on?

“Captain,” Fury at least attempted to sound like his old self, “would you be willing to take on a mission in the next few hours? It would just be you and Agent Romanoff. It may require undercover work, but for the most part you will be flying blind. And just so you know, it could very easily go into next week.”

Steve nodded. Next week was Christmas, but that hardly seemed the reason for the suffocating tension. And it wasn't like he had plans.

“Of course, what is it?”

Sighing, Fury rubbed at his temples, “Loki’s staff has been stolen.”

“What!?”

Steve jumped to his feet, “What do you mean it’s been stolen? Where was it?” He glared at Fury, fist clenching, “Why did SHIELD even have it?”

The man was unmoved, waiting until Steve sat back down before speaking.

“SHIELD has been studying the weapon since New York, _with_  Thor’s permission. But it was recently moved to a new facility and...” Fury’s jaw tightened, “apparently one of our operatives stole it last night.”

Steve was very close to breaking something. It was the fucking helicarrier all over again. This was why he didn’t trust SHIELD. God, he had been an idiot to assume things had changed. It hadn't even occurred that Thor hadn't taken the staff back to Asgard. And now a dangerous alien weapon was out in the world. Again.

Clint dropped his arms, pushing away from the wall, “I am perfectly capable of --”

“NO.”

Steve had never heard Natasha so angry before and his own anger dissipated in response. He turned in surprise, but the redhead was glaring at the archer. From the corner of his eye Steve saw Fury sit back in his chair.

Clint wanted to go after Loki’s weapon. Now the tension made sense.

He understood Nat’s concern, but really, Steve couldn’t blame the guy. But why wasn’t Fury doing anything?

“Nat, we will just be chasing this guy’s trail. He probably already sold it to a terrorist organization, nothing we haven’t dealt with before. I will be fine. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of days --”

She raised her eyebrow, “and what if it doesn’t? What if it takes longer? No, Cap and I will do it.”

Uncomfortable, Steve turned towards the archer, “I mean, I can do it. But if you--”

“See?” Natasha’s tone was final, “we will do it.”

The two agents glared at each other and Steve slid back in his own chair, realizing why Fury was so quiet. He didn't want to be in the firing zone either.

Suddenly Nat was making shapes with her hands, gesturing at Clint with a fierce look. She was signing, he realized. Steve had never seen someone signing before, and he had no idea it could be so intimidating.

Narrowing his eyes, Clint signed back. A short message that, judging by his expression, was just as adamant. But Nat was already replying, her hands flying into shapes faster than Steve could follow. Shaking her head, Nat’s expression softened, and holding her left arm vertically, she twisted her wrist in a “C” shape. She repeated the motion slowly, as if emphasizing her point. Steve desperately wished he knew what was happening.

With a sigh, Clint held up his hands in surrender, “alright, alright. I’m out.”

Satisfied, Nat looked at Fury expectantly.

“Mission briefing. Please.”

* * *

 

Two days later they were in a safe house in Poland when Nat’s phone buzzed. She stared at it for a moment too long, only to grab the laptop from him, typing furiously.

Swearing in several languages, she set it back on the table, hitting a button. It was a Youtube video.

“Is that? ...oh shit.”

Tony Stark was surrounded by reporters, and he was angry. 

_“...I decided that you just died, pal. I’m gonna come get the body. There is no politics here; it’s just good old fashioned revenge. There’s no pentagon here; it’s just you and me...”_

He glanced at Nat, “this is about the Mandarin guy? I thought that was just a stunt?”

But she was already dialing the phone, setting it on the table as it rang.

“Agent.”

It was Fury.

“Just saw Tony’s little announcement. On Youtube. What the hell is going on?”

Fury sighed, “Happy was caught in one of the suicide bombings that the Mandarin took credit for.”

Natasha swore again, “we wrote this guy off. It’s a hoax. Right?”

“Actually we think Tony may be onto something.”

Steve threw up his hands, “perfect. That’s perfect. And we are on the other side of the fucking world.”

“Captain, Stark is perfectly able to take care of this threat. And if not I will send in someone--”

“You already should’ve.” Nat snapped, “and Tony is not doing well. And he shouldn’t be handling this on his own.”

Steve stared at her in surprise.

“Want me to send Barton?”

Nat stiffened, and once again Steve was out of the loop. 

“Agent, we are monitoring the situation. We have alerted Rhodey -- Stark trusts the guy. And you two need to focus on the staff. Return to your own mission. Is that understood?”

Glaring at the phone, Nat nodded.

Steve hesitated, but he knew Fury was right. The staff was vital and they were nowhere close to finding it.

“Yes, Sir.”

Fury hung up, but Nat was already dialing someone else. It was a secure phone, but they were supposed to be off the grid -- not that he was gonna stop her for breaking protocol. 

“I know, I know," she spoke into the phone, "how are you?”

Steve turned the laptop towards him, googling ‘the mandarin.” News clippings and recent videos said nothing that SHIELD didn't already know. The Mandarin had come out of nowhere, claiming to be the leader of the Ten Rings terrorist organization. But from what Steve was reading, no one could confirm this. Most thought it was a hoax -- until today.

“Is he there? Good, pack a bag and get out...Of course he doesn’t think so, but you need to get him out of there. It’s not safe.”

Curious, Steve clinked on a link to a blog. Someone had gone through the past Mandarin videos, analysing them. They had focused on the image of the Ten Rings, arguing that it's similarity to the WWII Hydra symbol was not an accident. Steve didn't see it, but the comparison bothered him nonetheless.

For Tony’s sake, he hoped it was just a hoax. Glancing back, Steve watched Nat pace, phone at her ear.

"Yeah, a hotel is fine... No, no need to go off the grid. SHIELD will find you if they think you need a safe house...who is it? Doesn’t matter. Get out...Ok, bye.”

Steve let her pace a few more times.

“Was that Pepper?”

Natasha nodded.

After a moment she turned off the phone, looking lost in thought before snapping out of it. Then, as if a switch has been hit, the concern and worry faded from her eyes. Back straight, the Black Widow stared at him coolly. Sitting back down at the table, she pulled the blueprints towards them.

Swallowing, Steve ignored the shiver that went down his back. It was unnerving how easily Natasha Romanoff could compartmentalize and become the Black Widow.

“Alright. Back to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two dates Nat mentions {in case you haven't already guessed what one refers to} will be explained in the companion piece "The Rehabilitation of Natasha Romanoff." 
> 
> When Natasha is arguing with Clint in sign-language, the last thing she signs is the word for Christmas. Because she doesn't want him to miss Christmas [you know, cause of his his family]. I know. FEELS.
> 
> Also, I completely made up the artwork Steve likes so much. I have no skills, but if anyone else wants to try and create it, be my guest 
> 
> And a slight tie in to Iron Man 3. Cause I love Tony and want to protect him


	9. Chapter 9

Sam stared at him, “You thinking about getting out?”

Steve hesitated. Sure, he was pissed at Fury and SHIELD... but retire?

“No. I don’t know. To be honest I don’t what I would do with myself if I did.”

“Ultimate fighting? It’s just a great idea off the top of my head,” Sam laughed, “But seriously, you could do whatever you wanted to do. What makes you happy?”

For a moment Steve was struck by that question. He had always brushed it aside before. But the truth was he didn’t know. He didn’t know what made him happy. The dream of a family and a white picket fence got further away every day. And focusing on SHIELD was no longer enough, especially after the Lumerin Star and Project Insight.   

“I don’t know,” he said finally.

Sam shrugged, “that’s alright, man. We all gotta figure that out -- and that’s hard do, especially after everything we’ve seen. But, I got some time, if you wanna go get a coffee?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Nodding, Steve felt his chest release. He could almost hear Nat teasing him about making a friend.

Waving him down the hall, Sam assured him there was a great cafe two blocks down. Stepping outside, Sam slipped on his sunglasses and Steve wished he had brought his own. It was still a bright day, the sun pressing into his skin, but he never remembered to wear his sunglasses.

“Now, I gotta say man, I haven’t been to that big exhibit of yours. Don’t hold it against me.”

That made him laugh.

“Don’t worry. It wasn’t my idea,” Steve shook his head, “it’s weird seeing myself up on a display, as a figure from history.”

Sam nodded, “how long ago was it for you?”

How long? “Um, about three years.”

“And I bet it still feels like yesterday. But then there are those odd moments where it feels like a thousands years ago.”

Steve nodded, “exactly. Or in my case, about seventy.”

Sam chuckled, pointing to a small cafe stuffed into a street corner. Following him inside, Steve was glad to see the place was mostly empty. The booths looked far too tiny so he found a small table in the back where they could sit comfortably.

Sam found him a moment later, sliding a large cup of coffee over.

“I assumed you like it black.”

Steve grinned, “right again. Thanks.”

He savored the strong, bitter flavor. Some things he preferred to stay bitter.

“What? Sorry.”

Sam grinned, “I said who you do you miss most? From before? I mean, if I remember my first grade history lesson, you were an only child. Just you and your mom.”

He nodded, “yeah, mom died when I was eighteen. Just me and Bucky after that, really. Though his family was always real nice to me. So them, I guess... I mean I know what happened to all of ‘em, but that’s not the same thing.”

“And you feel responsible.”

Steve froze, “what?”

Sam shrugged into his coffee, “I know, it’s like Riley. Whenever you lose someone out there... that guilt never goes away. ‘I could of done something more.’ And lemme guess, you made some promise that you would look out for his family -- but then that didn’t happen either ‘cause you had to point a jet into the ocean.”

Steve nodded, eyes wide, “yeah...that’s, that’s exactly how I feel.”

“Civilian’s. People out here” Sam gestured to the cafe, “they don’t get it. They try to understand, but this sort of loss is different. You can’t prepare for it -- it just happens. And you can’t even react, ‘cause you gotta return to the mission. And the whole time you selfishly think, ‘that could’ve been me’. And despite what movies show, they just die. No justice, no heroics -- it’s just over. ”

Steve went cold.

Taking another sip of coffee, Sam nodded, “that’s why you gotta find something that makes you happy. Feeling guilty won’t bring them back, and it won’t help you either. It’s not a betrayal to them if you enjoy your life.”

Steve swallowed harshly. Hadn’t Peggy told him the exact same thing the other day?

“Excuse me, Mr.. Captain America?”

Turning, Steve realized it was the older barista. He smiled at the man.

“Well, if it’s allright, could I get a picture? For the wall?” He gestured to a billboard almost bursting with photos. The man wasn’t just a barista, Steve realised, it was his store.

“Sure thing, I appreciate a man who can make such a strong brew. Steve.”

He held out his hand, and the man shook it.

“Joseph.”

Smiling timidly, the man held up his phone, “you too Sir, I know you come in often.”

Grinning, Sam leaned over, “not a problem.”

The man quickly took some, nodding thanks as the bell of the door rang. He scurried back to the counter, greeting the women who had just stepped in.

Sam glanced at his own phone, “alright, I gotta be heading back. Meeting with a few more Vets for some physical therapy sessions. Here, gimme your phone.”

He pulled it from his pocked, “alright.”

Sam easily typed away onto the contraption, slapping it back into his palm.

“My number’s in there. In case you wanna get coffee again.” Standing, Sam chuckled, “or better yet, when you are going running again. That way I will know to stay in bed.”

Steve laughed, “I thought you did pretty well for a warmup lap.”

Passing by the billboard, Steve gave it a long glance. The thing was bursting with photo’s tacked on in every available space. All of them were customers. Different people, some grinning into their coffee cups or making a face, other’s looking like they needed to go back to bed.

Sam’s original question still hung before him. What made him happy?

Natasha. Natasha made him happy.

Fuck.

* * *

 

“Who do you want me to be?”

Steve ignored the double meaning of her words, knowing the question was sincere. And normally it would have terrified him, because he had several answers -- none of which were conducive to their present situation. Because now everything had changed.

After their hasty escape from DC, after Fury’s death -- what he really needed was someone he could trust. He was doing his best to stay calm, but Steve wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep lying to himself.

“A friend.”

Keeping an eye on the road, Steve glanced quickly at the woman slouched in the passenger seat. Natasha looked genuinely surprised by his answer, but just as quickly her mask fell back in place.

“I dunno Rogers, you might be in the wrong business.”

Steve grinned. If Nat was back to teasing him, then there was still a chance. He clung to that bit of normality.

For several minutes there was only silence, apart from Natasha flipping between radio stations. When she finally settled on one, it was a country station. Steve had mentioned once how he enjoyed the genre, the older country music at least, and of course she had remembered.

He waited for the song to end before it became too much.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, “like what?”

Steve kept his eyes on the road, “like you know what I’m thinking.”

She snickered, that was the only way to describe it, an evil, playful laugh.

“Oh Rogers, you may wear your heart on your sleeve, but you are surprisingly difficult to read.”

He didn’t believe her and told her so.

Natasha held up her hand, “true. I’ve never met someone with such a strong moral compass. I may be able to guess what you're thinking, but that doesn’t mean you’ll act on it. As a spy, it’s unnerving. Honestly, you make me self conscious. And I was trained not to have one.”

Steve glared at her.

“Nat, of course you have a conscious. You are a good and kind person.”

Her gaze drifted to the blurred tree line, “hmm, I understand the basics of right and wrong -- but only after I’ve read the situation. But you? You’re a natural.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m always right.” Steve could file all of today under the many things he was wrong about, “sometime’s my gut is wrong.”

Natasha’s voice was soft, “no one saw this coming, Steve. No one.”

She only called him Steve when he was being particularly hard on himself.

They both fell silent as Steve wove around a van going far too slowly for the lane it was in. The army base wasn’t too far now, and his stomach churned at the thought. Going back to the beginning wouldn’t be easy -- but he also couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a deeper meaning behind it. Why there? But they needed to know what was on the.  

“When SHIELD first found you in the ice it was hard to believe that a magical ‘serum’ could make someone kinder or more compassionate. Stronger and smarter, sure. But more pure?”

Steve shifted in his seat, “and now?”

“Now I see why they chose you for the program. I have a feeling you were just as stubborn as you are now about what you believe,” He could feel her gaze, “and sometimes I can’t decide if I should follow your lead or try and corrupt you.”

“Nat! We are on the run!”

The spy grinned, “when you shoved me against the wall. That was fun.”

He was never going to live that down.

Positive he was blushing, Steve kept his eyes on the road. First the kiss in the mall and now this.

“Why do you torture me?”

She shrugged, “it passes the time.”

That made him laugh, “oh, glad I can be of service.”

Spotting the exit, Steve moved over to the left lane, checking again if they were being followed.

“I wouldn’t though,” her tone surprised him as much as the confession, “I wouldn’t cross that line unless you were ok with it. My promises might not mean much, but I do promise that.”

He looked again, unsure if she was being serious. But her expression was guarded, preparing for the rejection. But Steve had been completely serious. He did need her as a friend.  

“I know,” he nodded finally, holding her gaze for a moment before turning back.

Her phone buzzed and she read the direction to get off the highway.

He noticed her typing and had to ask,

“They can’t track you on that can they?”

Natasha shook her head, “That’s why we dumped yours. This is Stark tech and a little of my own work. Turn at the next left.”

She continued to tap away at her phone.

“You contacting Barton?”

Hell, they could use the help. Anyone’s help.

“No.” She shook her head, “I don’t want him involved in this.”

Her tone surprised him, not that it should have. Of course she would be protective of Barton. But it was unlike her to turn down such a strategic advantage.

She read off the next direction and Steve felt her hesitation.

“What?”

Natasha was tense, “Clint and I...we have some codes, just between us. Warnings, of a sort. You should know them.”

The tires kicked up gravel as they turned onto a single lane road.

“Okay...” Steve felt his stomach drop.

“You might know it, a story from the American colonies. A village that suddenly disappeared?”

He racked his brain, “maybe?”

“It’s the code we use when things have gone FUBAR. If you ever get it, you drop everything and run. Completely off the grid, no contact. Nothing...” she trailed off, studying their surroundings with a sharp eye.

Steve swallowed,“You think that’s what’s happening?”

Natasha nodded.

“Roanoke. The code is Roanoke.”

* * *

When Steve finally dared to open his eyes, everything was dark. He was sure the whole building had collapsed around them. But there was a shaft of light coming down from... somewhere, which meant, at the very least, they wouldn’t suffocate. His shield was pinned in place, above their heads and he cautiously pulled his arm from it.

Planting his feet, Steve craned his neck around it, trying to get a good look at their current situation. He had a feeling Pierce would send agents down to confirm the hit. Which meant they needed to get out. It was dim and most likely unstable, but Steve was confident there was space for them to crawl. A steel frame had crashed above their heads, but they could easily climb around it. Ducking back inside, he coughed from all the dust and debris.

“Sorry Nat,” he coughed, then paused “Natasha?”

The woman in his arms did not respond.

Pulling her into his chest, Steve quelled the fear in his gut, feeling her pulse beating under his fingers. Sighing in relief, he carefully pulled her out from under the debris.

“Damn, Nat. Don’t scare me like that.”

As respectfully as possible, Steve ran a hand over her legs, but found no gashes or wounds. A rock fall sounded somewhere to the left, and Steve crouched over her, fear shooting through his veins -- they needed to get out of here.

His eyes were adjusting quickly, and he was pretty sure if he pushed the left block aside they could crawl through the allotted space. As long as his shield came free it wouldn’t be too difficult. Gently he laid Natasha on the ground, standing over her body.

Coughing at the dust, Steve slung his arm through his shield, mentally preparing himself.

With a hard pull, it broke free, dust and debris falling down on them -- but at least now he could see clearly.

Bending down, he carefully maneuvered his shield arm under Natasha’s shoulders, his other arm under her knees. Lifting her into his chest, Steve steadied himself under her weight. It was about a two foot jump onto a relatively stable chunk of cement. And then? Well, hopefully a way out. And, if they were very lucky the car would still be in one piece.

“Here goes nothing.”

* * *

Sam was confident that Natasha didn’t have a concussion, and as such, she decided to take a nap. The spy still seemed rather shaken from her confession earlier. Steve had never fully trusted SHIELD, but she had put her entire faith in it. Steve wanted to already be on the road, but his concern for Natasha won.

But he knew that when she did come out of the bedroom, it would be as the Black Widow. She wasn’t resting so much as building up her walls again.

Steve was too keyed up to rest, his veins still humming with adrenaline. And as tempted as he was to lie next to Nat and watch her sleep, his mind kept going back to Zola.

Steve was still trying to wrap his head around it. He had just spoken to Zola on a fucking computer. Out of the people from his past. That was not who he ever wanted to come back.

Shaking his head, Steve tried to compartmentalize.

Three important things stood out from today.

Hydra. Hydra had never died. All of it had been a waste.

He and Nat were officially fugitive’s -- the missile no doubt sent on Pierce’s orders.

And all of this had something to do with Project Insight.

It was a cleansing program -- no different than the Nazi’s and their Aryan race bullshit. And despite their disagreements, Steve had hoped he could get Fury to listen to reason. But now? Pierce was clearly not going to listen. They needed to shut it down.

But his own fucking STRIKE team had been Hydra. Who could he trust? Agent Hill. He had to believe that Fury’s right-hand woman wasn’t involved. But how to get in touch with her? He glanced at the clock. According to Nat they had at most, two hours before they needed to move out. Maybe she knew a way --

“You ok, man?”

Jolting, Steve spun around, finding Sam on his couch with his phone.

Shrugging, Steve checked the clock again.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“About what?”

Sam laughed, “alright, if you wanna play it that way. I mean, I don’t know what your normal days are like, but I imagine everyone trying to kill you ain’t so normal.”

Steve didn’t respond, and based on Sam’s expression, that wasn’t surprising.

“C’mon man. Just basics, alright? What’s the plan after we get my wings. Who is this dude and why do we need him.”

Steve forced himself into the nearby chair. Discussing the plan was a good idea. But where to begin? The ship? Pierce? Fury getting shot in his fucking apartment? Steve clenched his fist. The damn serum couldn’t just let him have a normal reaction. Just once.

“OK, wait,” Sam glanced back towards the bedroom, “first, tell me about her. I remember her. Picked you up in that sweet Corvette. She a SHIELD agent, like you?”

Steve nodded, “yeah, Nat. Natasha Romanoff. She’s my partner...she was also an Avenger.”

“No!” Sam laughed, “I knew there were more of you guys. So what’s her deal, she got like mutant powers?”

Steve shook his head, having no idea what that meant.

“She’s a spy. The best.” his eyes flickered to where she was resting. Again. She had asked him again how much he trusted her. It hurt to even think about.

“She uh, she used to be an assassin for the Russians.”

Sam whistled, nodding appreciatively, “no wonder you guys get along. Both adrenaline junkies with a problem with authority. Are you and her...a thing?”

Steve shook his head, “no, no. We’re just partners. She’s...she’s my best friend.” He snorted, at the thought, “she’s the only reason I made it out of D.C. today.”

He was sure Nat had let him steal the car. She knew how to do everything. But somehow that just made him smile. She wasn’t patronizing him like Stark would. She just went along with it.

“Alright, who we goin’ after?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hope you don't mind that I skipped the mall scene. I didn't really want to change it or just repeat it verbatim. 
> 
> But, funny story, the car scene is actually the first thing I wrote for this fic. Haha 
> 
> Next chapter will be major FEELS. Be prepared.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pick's up right after the battle with Cap in the hospital. Post CA:WS.  
> This chapter will also have Nat's POV

_-Natasha's POV-_

 

The crash was impossible to miss. The banks of the Potomac river had flooded from the fallen jet. And Steve was in there somewhere. He had to be.

Natasha dove and rolled to her feet before the helicopter touched ground. She couldn’t wait.

Shoes and jacket gone, skirt ripped at the side, she ran through the trash and brush of the riverbank, scanning the area. Hydra could be here any minute -- and so could the authorities. Both of which they needed to avoid.

Movement in the water had her ducking for cover. Swearing, she loaded her gun, whispering into her earpiece. But the figure who swam to the surface was not Steve.

The Winter Soldier waded out of the river with the heavy gait of someone who had been badly wounded. She couldn’t see his face, but his body language was still easy to read -- even after all these years. The crash must have broken through his conditioning, big events like this usually did.

His metal arm lifted above the surface holding Steve’s shield and Natasha went cold. He tossed it to the shore, turning back to the water with an odd expression. And then the Winter Soldier dove back into the Potomac.

Natasha ran forward, gun raised, trying to see into the muddy river. But the murky water had only gotten worse with the crash.

Sam’s quick gait caught her ear, and she held up her arm. And soldier that he was, Sam froze. She motioned for him to take cover and not a moment too soon.

A ripple in the water was the only warning before the Winter Soldier broke through the surface like a kraken rising from the sea. Crouching low, Natasha’s heart skipped a beat.

He was dragging Steve.

Allowing herself a smidgen of hope, she waited until they got to shore. This was not the action of the Winter Soldier -- this was a man acting on impulse. But that didn’t mean she was going to drop her guard. Steve’s body fell into the sand, and Natasha rose, gun trained on the brunette’s head. Instinct told her to take the shot. But she hesitated. Steve would never forgive her if he shot his best friend. His body language spoke of confusion -- turmoil.

Steve chose that moment to cough, rolling onto his back, revealing his torso covered in blood.

Alright, time was up.

Gun high, Natasha broke from her cover.

“Встаньте. Освободить его!” [Stand down! Release him!]

She could have emptied a round into his torso by the time the Winter Soldier spotted her. His face was pale, bruises forming around one eye. He looked so lost.

Fucking hell, she couldn’t do it. Steve’s damn moral compass had finally infected her. Natasha couldn’t take the shot. Swearing, she told Fury to ready the helicopter; Cap needed medical. Now.

“Освободить его!” [Release him!]

The Winter Soldier stared at her, struggling to understand.

Blue eyes found hers, “Natalia?”

The air left her lungs.

Lowering the gun, she took a hesitant step forward.

“Мы можем помочь тебе, Yakov. Встаньте.” [we can help you, Yakov. Stand down]

His eyes flickered behind her where Sam hid. She stiffened.

He looked like a cornered animal, flinching at the sound of the incoming helicopter. There was no trust in his gaze -- only confusion. There was no reason for him to believe her words.

“идти. Пожалуйста, Yakov.” [go, please Yakov]

The Winter Soldier turned and ran.

Natasha bolted through the brush.

“Steve!”

Dropping to her knees, she unstrapped his helmet, searching his clammy skin for a pulse. Faint. But there. His breath was shallow, with a pained inhale -- that could mean a punctured lung or broken ribs. Fuck, Natasha couldn’t get her hands to stop shaking.

Sam appeared, his steady hands checking Steve’s wounds, telling Hill what to prepare. Sand whipped around them as the helicopter rose into sight, and Sam ran for the stretcher.

Shielding his face as best she could, Natasha loosened Steve’s uniform, keeping pressure on his stomach wound. He felt cool. That wasn’t good.

“Here!”

Sam was back. Considering he outweighed both of them, she and Sam managed to carefully push Steve’s dead weight onto the stretcher.

It was maybe twenty feet to the helicopter.

“Can you lift him?” she shouted over the propellers.

Sam nodded to her shoulder, “can you?”

Gritting her teeth, Natasha nodded. That was nothing.

Only when Steve was fully strapped in and another call made to Hill, did Natasha allow herself to breathe. Leaning against the hull, she kept one hand on the stretcher. Her body ached, her shoulder throbbed, and Steve’s blood covered her hands. But none of that mattered.

Steve was going to be fine. He had to be.

With a steadying breath, Natasha Romanoff wiped away a lone tear that had escaped down her cheek.

* * *

If Sam noticed the bandage on her arm from giving blood, he wisely stayed silent. Showered and with a re-bandaged shoulder, Natasha sat restlessly besides Steve. Why she was so antsy, Natasha couldn’t guess. No, that was a lie. She knew why.

Yakov. Yakov was Bucky. Steve’s best friend who had died in the war. Bucky was Yakov.

Oh god, she had to tell Steve the truth.

Sam leaned on the doorframe, and nodded to the bed, “if you want to head out, I will stay with him.”

Natasha hesitated.

She could stay here, find a bed, sleep. She had tripled checked the facility and knew all the of the staff by sight. But Yakov. She had to figure out what to say. And she could not do that while watching Steve recover from Yakov--Bucky’s -- attack.

No, Natasha Romanoff was very close to cracking. And it couldn’t happen here.

Body stiff, she crawled out of the chair and took up her coat and gun. She refused to look back at Steve’s bruised and battered form. It was imprinted in her mind regardless.

“I’ll let you know when he wakes.”

Nodding, she flashed Sam a tired smile. Knowing he would be here made things easier. Even in Fury’s ultra secret underground lab, she wouldn’t trust anyone besides Sam to watch over Steve.

Out in the hall, fingers shaking, Natasha took out her phone, and texted Clint. She almost laughed, recalling the last time she had sent him this code.

_Rabbit._

*emotionally compromised*

* * *

 

 

Steve heard music. It took a moment for his eyes to open, and when they did he realized he was in a hospital bed. But where? He stared at the ceiling, trying to fight off the panic. 

No, that wasn’t right. What kind of hospital had a brick ceiling? Then it clicked. He was in the underground facility where Fury had faked his death. Why was he here?

Wait, there  _ was _ music playing.

Blinking, Steve tried to turn his head, only to groan as his jaw moved. His whole body ached, and his stomach felt like it had been shot.

Bucky.

Turning his head again, slower this time, Steve felt a modicum of relief. He wasn’t alone. 

“On your left,” his throat was dry, but Sam grinned at him. 

“Man, you are something else.”

Steve blinked, “what?”

Sam pushed a button on the wall before responding, “you should be dead five times over. Three bullets, man. They pulled three bullets out of you. And based on your uniform, you were probably shot a few more times. Not to mention you almost drowned.”

“What happened?”

Closing the book he was reading, Sam hummed.

“Let’s see, Pierce is dead. Natasha got into the meeting no problem and I’m assuming she kicked ass. She and Fury escaped and then somehow caught me as I fell from the 42nd floor into an open helicopter.” Sam shivered, “Anyway, Hill told us that you got to the last ship but then she lost your signal over the Potomac. Oh, that reminds me -- I said I would text Natasha when you woke.”

Pulling out a phone, Sam tapped away, far more efficiently than Steve could ever hope to do. But he was glad to hear that Natasha was alright. They were all ok, that’s what was important. 

A memory of a metal fist connecting with his jaw hit him like a wave, the left side of his face throbbing. There was one more person Sam hadn’t mentioned. 

“Bucky?”

Sam paused, “we found him at the river. Don’t panic -- he’s still alive. He’s the one who pulled you out. Natasha she... she yelled at him but it didn’t seem like he understood what was happening. He looked dazed.” Sam looked guilty, “he ran off, man. And you were bleeding out. We had to choose.”

Steve closed his eyes, “he’s gone.”

The door opened, and Steve flinched, neck twinging in pain.

A woman appeared, announcing herself as his doctor. She was efficient and fast on her feet, leaving Steve dizzy as he tried to answer her questions. Checking over the many beeping machines, she patted his arm, assuring him that sleep would be the best medicine. He watched her add a shot into his IV, and he wondered how that small amount was going to make a difference. But then the room started to blur and his eyelids grew heavy. 

“Go ahead, man. I got your back.”

Steve fell back into a dream.

* * *

 

Steve awoke to the whir and beeping of machines. His body felt strange, like when he had first woken from the ice. Steve cautiously shifted in the hospital bed only to be pleasantly surprised. He felt a lot better. Considering the severity of his injuries Steve had been prepared to stay in this bed for at least a few days, maybe even a week. But he felt well enough to walk around. How was he healing so fast? What had Fury’s doctor’s done?

“Hey, soldier.”

Steve instantly relaxed at her voice, rolling his head towards her. Natasha sat in Sam’s chair, dropping her phone

“Hey, when did you...” Steve coughed viciously, throat raw.

“Here, you were intubated during surgery. The muscles are still gonna be sensitive. Take it slow,” her hand was gentle as she cradled his neck, carefully holding a glass of water to his lips. Grateful, he drank it down.

Studying her up close, Steve could see the exhaustion behind her eyes. Her hair was down, but he still saw the cuts on her cheek. Sam hadn’t gone into detail with what had happened at HQ, but Steve could see it had been intense.

“You’re alright?”

Natasha nodded, climbing back into the chair, “fared better than you, that’s for sure. You’ve been asleep nearly twelve hours.”

“Seriously, Nat. Your shoulder.”

She narrowed her eyes, but pulled aside the neck of her black top, “see?”

The entry wound was red and inflamed around the stitches, but it was not nearly as bad as he expected. Nat really did heal fast. Hopefully she hadn’t strained it much in the fight.

Steve licked his chapped lips, “Sam said you and Fury...you took care of Pierce.”

“Yeah. Had to use one of my own Bite’s on myself -- and those things really sting. Then I dumped all of SHIELD’s classified files onto the internet. You haven’t heard the news in the last 12 hours, but it’s getting kinda intense. There will probably be a senate hearing.”

“What?” Steve tried to sit up, only to cringe in pain.

Natasha shrugged, “had to be done.”

His mind raced, trying to make sense of what this meant.

“But that means anyone can...wait, everything?” his eyes went wide, “but what about you? Your files?”

At that she smiled, that gentle half-smile Steve rarely ever saw.

“I’ll be fine. You and I both know that’s not the half of it. And I warned Tony, so I imagine he’s getting rid of the more...delicate material.”

Her words filtered through his brain, but it was a struggle. God, how much more could he take?

In the last twenty-four hours his best friend had not only come back to life, but was in fact a brainwashed assassin. Hydra had been alive all along and now SHIELD had fallen. Everything Peggy had built was gone. And now all of the classified information was on the internet? He could only imagine what had already been revealed.

He had died for nothing. All of Peggy’s work had been for nothing.

And Bucky. Oh god, Bucky.

_You’re my mission._

The heart rate machine sped up, and lighting shot up his jaw as he clenched his teeth. Fuck. How had this all gone so wrong? Ever since arriving in this stupid century, Steve had prayed for something familiar. Peggy was still alive, but she had lived her life. What did he have in common with her anymore? How could he go to her now and explain that SHIELD had fallen?

But he had finally made peace with Bucky’s death. Sure, he had often imagined what it would have been like if Bucky has ended up here with him.

But not like this. Never like this.

“Easy Steve, we got this. It’s alright.”

Natasha’s hands found his, gently rubbing her fingers back and forth, relaxing his fist.

He could do this. He just needed to compartmentalize. He focused on her hands, so much smaller than his own. A large part of him wanted to fall back into his pillow and sleep.

Escape.

No, he needed to be strong. He had to get a grip.

Nat somehow noticed his decision, pulling her hands away, “Want to sit up? Here”

Picking up a remote on the side table, Nat pushed a button and then the bed was moving. The mattress began to move, folding up so that he was sitting in a more natural position. His stomach twinged, but nothing else hurt like he expected.

Good. He could do this.

Relaxing back into the bed he realized the heart monitor had dropped back down again.

“Sam said he would be back with food,” Nat glanced at her watch, “should be here in an hour or so.”

He nodded, eyes tracking the I.V lines on his wrist back to their respective holders. One bag he recognized as plasma. Another was blood.

“What did they do to me?’

Natasha cocked her head, looking concerned.

“What?”

Steve carefully stretched out his legs, wiggling his toes under the cotton sheets. No, he was sure of it. He felt far too good for just one day of sleep. He stared at the nearly empty bag of blood, confused. Normal blood had little effect on him because of the serum. They must have been truly desperate.

“My healing...I feel...” okay, maybe he was still a bit foggy, “I’m healing faster than normal.”

She shrugged, glancing back to the glass wall into the hall, “they did a lot of things last night to make sure you made it.”

A heavy silence followed. Why wasn’t she looking at him?

“Nat? What’s wrong?”

The spy looked surprised, brushing back her red hair. But they were partners, he could read her pretty well now.

_Would you trust me to pull you out? Be honest._

It was the same expression.

“I’ve--I’ve got to tell you something,” she finally said, “I should have told you before, but everything happened so quickly and it just got so out of--”

Leaning forward as best he could, Steve grasped her hand, “Nat you don’t have to tell me anything. I trust you.”

Her expression sent a shiver down his spine.  

“No, no...I need to tell you this.”

Steve nodded, leaning back into his bed. He could do this. He could handle anything.

“You’ve read my file. You know where I was trained in Russia -- a facility known as the Red Room. And you know that I tried to escape.”

He nodded again.

“The first time I tried to escape, I wasn’t alone. I was with a trainer from the Red Room.” She glanced at him, “he and I -- we had fallen in love. So we tried to run.”

Steve swallowed, “Oh, god, Nat.”

Her jaw tensed.

“It didn’t work, obviously. I messed up and they found us. We were punished and taken to different facilities. But his name was Yakov -- I knew him as Yakov,” her eyes closed briefly, “but his code name was зимний солдат.”

Ice shot through his veins. He didn’t speak Russian, but somehow he knew what she had said.

The Winter Soldier.

“What.”

It came out as a whisper, but it tore through his throat like a knife.

Her fingers clenched around the arm of her chair, “when he attacked us on the bridge, I thought -- I thought he’d been brought out to punish me. They’d done it before,” her hand drifted to her stomach, “But I swear to you, I had no idea that he was your friend. That he was...”

“Bucky.”

She nodded, eyes searching.

“You loved him.”

Steve dropped his back into the pillow, staring up at the brick ceiling. It _was_ possible to hurt even worse than he already did.

She had known him. She had fucking loved him. Natasha had been in love with Bucky. His Bucky. His two best friends. Steve was surprised the machines weren’t beeping in alarm. He was sure he had stopped breathing.

“You.. but... but you were trying to kill him?”

She had shot him straight between the eyes, her aim true even as the car spun out of control. Fuck, she had even shot him with a grenade launcher.

Natasha cocked her head, as if the answer obvious, “he was trying to kill you.”

Steve felt a headache forming in his temples alongside the terrible ache in his chest.

“Why-- why are you telling me this?” The _now_ hung unsaid between them. But Natasha understood.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “because I know you’re gonna go after him.”

Steve didn’t bother denying it.

“I promised him once that if I saw him still being used, still being controlled... that I would end it,” she hesitated, voice catching, “But yesterday I couldn’t. And I don’t want to get your hopes up, but you should know that he pulled you out of the water. He dove back in and got you.”

Steve grit his teeth as the machine’s reacted to his elevated heart rate.

Her hand wrapped around his once again.

“I’m sorry, Steve, I know this isn’t...” Natasha sounded frustrated, “I can come back. Sam will be here soon and I’ll let you rest.”

“No, no,” he shook his head vigorously, despite the headache it caused, “no, I need to know everything, please.”

Natasha didn’t try to argue with him, though her gaze lingered on his flushed face. Once again pulling her hand free, she got up and poured a glass of water.

“Drink, Rogers.” It was the same teasing voice she always used. Carefully, he took the glass from her, throat still raw.

“I told you before that the intelligence community thought he was a myth. And that’s the truth. You won’t find information on him anywhere. He was the Red Army’s best kept secret. I never even told SHIELD... which now I guess was a good thing. But you have to believe me, Steve. When I defected I thought he was dead.”

Steve closed his eyes, trying to take it all in.

“I’m still trying to piece it together,” she continued, “Hydra must have gotten him long before I defected, maybe when the Soviet’s fell. I don’t know. What I do know is that he didn’t recognize me in 2009, the same way he didn’t know you. That’s gotta be Hydra’s doing.”

The date hit him in the chest.

  1. She had said it before. But he had been so distracted, trying to get the flash-drive back, it hadn’t even registered.



November 3rd, 2009. The last time Natasha Romanoff had cried. The failed mission where she had been shot in the stomach by an unknown sniper.

Bucky.

It took all of his willpower not to shatter the glass in his fist. Carefully Steve opened his eyes and set it on the table. He could do this.

“After--after 2009 you knew he was alive. Why didn’t you tell Fury?”

“Because I didn’t want him to be someone else’s experiment.” Nat tugged at the sleeve of her shirt, “Steve, he’s not the same person you knew. He was treated like an animal. He didn’t know who he was, so they forced him to become this...this thing.  

But sometimes -- even after everything they did, all of the conditioning and the... well, sometimes he could fight it. And he told me once that he never even wanted to be a soldier, he just wanted to protect people.”

Tears stung his eyes and he choked back a sob. Oh god, it was him. It was Bucky.

Immediately Nat’s hands were grasping his.

The truth crested over him like a wave. Steve was back on the train, reaching out, watching Bucky fall. It was real. He was alive. Bucky was alive.

“He survived the fall.”

Gentle green eyes met his.

“Yes.”

He had so many questions. But at the same time Steve didn’t want any of them answered.

All he wanted to do was sleep. Maybe, if he was lucky this was all a terrible dream. Maybe he was still in the ice. Maybe he was still back in 1944 where he belonged.

Oh god, Bucky.

“What happened to his arm?” His throat twinged.

Nat looked apologetic, “he already had it when I met him. But the Soviet’s were always talented at that sort of thing. This one’s far more advanced then when I knew him, practically Stark tech...” she trailed off, lost in thought, “Vanko, shit.”

Steve nodded, dumbly.

Had he lost his arm falling off the train? How had he even survived? Even with the serum, Steve wasn’t sure if he could have survived a fall from that height. And Bucky had still been recovering from whatever Zola had done to him.

Zola.

The madman had admitted that he was still experimenting. Still trying to perfect the formula he had used on Red Skull. Had Bucky been one of his experiments?

Steve was going to being sick.

Breathing hard, he ignored the soreness of his ribcage and the twinge from his stomach wound.

Staring up at the brick ceiling, he forced himself to stay calm.

“How,” he swallowed painfully, “how is he so young? It’s been 90 years.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Steve wanted to take them back. Because Natasha’s face was enough of an answer.

“They...they froze him, Steve. Cyrogenic storage.” Her hand gripped his tightly, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you this now. You need to rest. I just...” she swore quietly, looking pained.

Movement from the corridor had them both stiffen, but it was only a nurse walking by.

“I have something for you. Something to help,” pulling away, she bent over to her backpack and pulled out a battered file, placing it on his lap. “This is everything I have collected over the years. Assassinations, coups -- everything I know he was involved in. Where he was kept over the years. Status reports from his handlers. Anything I could find.”

He stared at the file, afraid to touch it.

The door opened and they both turned in alarm. This time it was Sam, and he stared at them nervously, grocery bag in hand. Steve tried to say something but nothing came out. The file on his lap felt like a boulder, weighing him down.

“Come on in, Sam. I was just leaving.”

Nat was cool and collected once more, but Steve saw Sam’s expression. He didn’t believe it either. But the man came in anyway, dropping the bag on the nearby table. He methodically emptied out the bags, giving them a moment.

“I’m gonna be away for a few days. But I’ll be back, hopefully with some... some more answers.” She held his gaze, her hand drifting to his face, “you’re not going to like what you find, Steve. But promise me you won’t go after him alone.”

He knew Sam had heard, and he knew she had done that on purpose. God, he wanted so badly to hate her.

Instead he leaned into her hand.

“Ok,” he whispered.

Steve blinked and she was gone.

* * *

 


	11. Chapter 11

Three days later Steve stood before Fury’s grave, watching the man pour whiskey onto the grass in front of it. Physically Steve was completely healed, but inside he was a warzone.

SHIELD was gone. Hydra had returned. Even Fury had been taken down.

And Bucky... Steve stared down at the folder in his hand. Bucky.

Natasha had come and gone, leaving pandora’s box behind. It was a Hydra file. She had “managed to pull some strings” and the last twenty or so years of Bucky’s life now lay in his hands. But Steve was too afraid to open it. Even Natasha had refused to look inside. Because with every page Bucky’s last seventy years would be revealed.

Being frozen in the ice sounded more and more like a lovely dream in comparison.

His heart burned at thought of what his best friend had gone through. And now he had the answers. Here in his hand. 

He had to find Bucky. And he would. And that meant learning about his past. Because Natasha was right, he didn’t know Bucky anymore. Bucky didn’t even know himself.

It was only because of Sam that he had not completely given up, no lead was too small and no idea too crazy.

But if they did find him, who exactly would he be? And if it turned out that Bucky was gone?

Fuck. Even Nat had been unable to take him out.

And that scared him even more. What if they found Bucky and he asked Steve the same thing he had asked Nat? Could he do it?

* * *

Unlike the folder Nat had handed over in the hospital, these reports dated only the last twenty years. The years Bucky had been under Hydra.

These had been the most painful to read. The Red Army had at least tried to keep Bucky healthy and cognate. Hydra had treated him like a machine.

Regardless, Steve kept returning to the first report in the file. It didn't make sense.

There were pages missing -- not unexpected --but what was odd, was that the pages were from different reports. The first few pages were dated in March of 1983 and belonged to the Red Army: _O_ _peration Carrion_. The rest of the report ranged throughout 1984 and had the red Hydra stamp. They were also the only reports written in Russian. But for whatever reason, these had all been bound together.

Sam had found someone to translate the pages, since Nat was still underground and had not responded to any calls. Apparently she had been serious about wanting nothing to do with the search. He had clearly become too dependent on the red head because Steve was all too aware of her absence, even with Sam’s help.

Also, Steve hadn’t found any mention of the Black Widow in any of the files. And that was both a relief and an annoyance. Because as much as he hated the thought of them together, some selfish part of his soul needed to know. Nat had believed he was dead when she had defected in 2002, so that meant sometime in the 1990’s they had...they had worked together. Right? The Winter Soldier and Black Widow. But there was no mention anywhere.

Sam kept him sane. Kept him on track. It’s why they were currently in Venezuela, looking for any evidence of Bucky. After all, this was where he had broken free of his conditioning back in 1983. It was what led the Winter Soldier from being a Red Army Weapon to a Hydra ghost.

[Operation Carrion/Padal’ Missiya]

The Red Army pages were pre and post mission reports. ‘Operation Carrion’ had been a failure. A huge one.

The Winter Soldier had been sent to Brazil to take out officials who were trading USSR secrets with the US. It was meant to look like a terrorist attack, a lone gunman crashing an Embassy dinner. Bucky was meant to take out select USSR members along with several other world officials. It was supposed to appear random, a madman shooting indiscriminately. But it was here that Bucky, the real Bucky, had resurfaced -- long enough for everything to go wrong.

 

**EMBASSY FIRE LEAVES 17 WORLD AMBASSADORS DEAD**

 

According to the internet, March 20th 1983 was the date of the French Embassy fire in Sao Paulo, Brazil. According to old news reports someone posing as a government official had attended the dinner, locked the door and set the building on fire. It was unclear if the arsonist or security had fired, but several people had been wounded by gunfire. Ultimately, Brazil had lost three embassy workers to the fire. The US lost only one ambassador to the fire, while two had needed hospitalization. China had lost one in the fire, another perishing later that night. The USSR had lost nine.

At least two bodies were missing, including that of the arsonist. No leads had ever been found and to this day it remained unsolved.

But not according to the Red Army post-mission report. Their records stated that, out of the 17 confirmed dead, only three had died from natural causes. Despite what the papers reported, the rest of the victims had all been shot, including all nine of the USSR agents. There had been some unspoken agreement with all of the countries to report it as arson -- no mention of a gunman. Somehow that was seen as less of a risk.

Of the original three targets, only one had been killed. Bucky had only taken out high ranking officials, each of whom had been in charge of him at least once.

In the chaos of the fire, Bucky had tried to run -- and he hadn’t been the only one. Another Red agent had taken advantage of the chaos and bolted into the wilds of Brazil. One of the surviving US ambassadors swore he had seen the arsonist screaming in English and holding a woman hostage.

Three weeks later Bucky had been caught hiding in a hostel in Venezuela. They had lost more men trying to bring him in, and they had immediately froze him. Weeks had been spent arguing over the _Zimniy Soldat's_ fate -- whether or not he was still a cost effective weapon. The other agent who had gone AWOL had also been found, and sent to Siberia.

The last Red Army report was in fact two ripped pages pasted together. The fist was a short, handwritten memo dated 1987 announcing the S _oldat_ as deceased. No other explanation.

The other half, from an official report, reported that the  _Soldat_ had died ‘ from natural causes’ after coming out of the ice on December 2nd, 1991.

Steve could see the words when he closed his eyes. They haunted him. Why had the reports lied about his death? Why had they lied twice?

It was Sam who had figured it out.

“1991, man. That’s important. That’s when the USSR fell. The Army, they were covering their tracks because the Win-- because they knew Bucky wasn’t dead. He had been taken.” Sam held up the pages, “by Hydra. In 1987. 

"But no military is going to admit they lost their most valuable weapon. This paper from 1987, look at it. It’s a scrap torn out of the official log book. It was probably supposed to be destroyed. The 1991 'official' report was some general’s attempt to hide their failure if anyone came looking. And with the fall of the USSR just weeks later, it’s not surprising. Bucky is, at the very least, a human rights violation. They couldn’t admit that not only did they create him back in WWII but that they lost him in the 80’s. Not with the Holocaust and all that on people’s minds. No way. But, at the very least they could tell people he was dead. Frankenstein’s monster roaming the world? Nuhuh. So they lied.”

Hydra’s file confirmed this. A black ops mission back in 1987 had stolen the Winter Soldier as he had been in transit. The leader of that mission? Alexander Pierce, already a leader of SHIELD, and one year away from accepting the role of Secretary to the World Council.

Steve had destroyed several punching bags that day, breaking several fingers in the process.

Sam had taken over reading after that, summarizing the reports if Steve couldn’t handle them.

Whatever Hydra had done, whatever technology they had possessed, it was far more capable than the USSR’s conditioning. And for almost two decades Bucky had disappeared completely under the mask of the Winter Soldier. As Sam explained, the computer age had really taken off in the 1990’s, and that was when they had begun ‘programming’ him with electro-shock type devices. And it was clearly far more effective.

Bucky was nothing but a machine. A weapon. And when not in use, he was put back in the ice.

They had to find him.

But it was a windy day in May when Steve realized just how much worse things could get.

“Man, you gotta read this.”

Steve looked up from the map, wiping his eyes tiredly. It seemed like this place too was a bust. Reaching across the table, Steve blinked down at the pages in his hand. It was a memo.

      _Message to A. Pierce:_

_ASSET RETRIEVAL SUCCESSFUL._

_Asset successfully retrieved XXXXXXXXXX. 5 containers - undamaged._

_Asset left no witnesses._

 

_December 16th, 1991_

_1900 hours (PST)_

Steve shook his head, “what --”

Sam clenched his jaw, “the date, man. It’s the night Stark’s parents... it wasn’t a fucking car crash.”

“Oh god.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses, I will just say sorry for the extreme delay, and hope this makes up for it.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> (also in case anyone missed it, Sao Paolo is one of the things Loki threatens Black Widow with in The Avengers)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About two months have passed from the last chapter.
> 
> Oh! And a quick scene from Natasha's POV at the end!

“Come on, Rogers, relax.”

Nat looked up at him through her large sunglasses, grinning coquettishly. Swinging their clasped hands, she pulled him into the crowded market. They weren’t the only foreigners wandering around the mediterranean market, but he still felt about as inconspicuous as the Hulk.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.”

Glancing at him over her shoulder, Nat rolled her eyes, “stop over thinking this. You are just a guy out with his girlfriend, enjoying an exotic vacation. That’s all.”

He snorted, “that’s all?”

She pulled him over to a stall of beaded jewelry, looking every bit the American tourist.

 _“Ok, guys, the mark is at the cafe.”_ Barton echoed into his earpiece, _“4 o’clock, he’s facing the crowd though. One bodyguard on his left, near the patio steps, and I think there is another one wandering around. Yup, three lanes down. Red shirt, military boots.”_

Natasha continued to inspect the jewelry.

“Well, maybe if you ever took out any of the girls I suggested --.”

Steve groaned, dropping her hand, “We are _not_ discussing that right now. Besides, I am not an actor, I am a soldier.”

Browsing through a basket of handmade bracelets, Nat bit her lip. Holding one up, she shook her head and picked up another. Steve hoped this was part of her cover, he didn’t like any of them.

“No, duh, Rogers. That’s why I’m here. And you’re not just a soldier, you are also a spy. Brute force won’t always be an option.” Threading her fingers through his, she pulled him back into the market, a bounce in her step, “you are making this more difficult than it needs to be. Don’t worry about our cover, just be here now with me.”

Nat swung their hands back and forth, pouting, “am I that terrible to be with?”

Steve felt his mouth go dry.

“Nat, you know that’s not it...” he tugged at their hands, and she swung closer, brushing a light kiss to his cheek.

How could he pretend like he was in love with her? He _was_ in love with her. He didn’t know how to separate the two things, he wasn’t capable of compartmentalizing like that. And to make matters worse, Barton was watching it all from his scope.

This was the best worst moment of his life.

Nearly two months he had gone without seeing Natasha Romanoff. He and Sam had (unsuccessfully) hunted for Bucky,  while the Black Widow had roamed the world closing any loose ends from SHIELD. But this mission took priority over both: information on Loki’s staff.

Nat tugged on his hand, bringing him back out of his head.

“Breathe, Rogers. Besides, no one is looking at you.”

“What?”

Nat lowered her sunglasses, giving him a pointed look, “Black Widow, remember? This is what I was designed for. You are just my accessory.”

Biting her lip playfully, Natasha pulled him back towards another stall, shoving her sunglasses into her hair. Fighting a blush, Steve let her tug him along.

With her blonde wig and cute attitude, Natasha was getting lots of attention. Her outfit was worse, displaying her long, tan legs and perfect figure. Steve hated every man who glanced at her. And he hated himself for how his body reacted to her.

Mostly though, he hated having to pretend like he was in love with Natasha. Being away from her, focusing on Bucky, Steve had managed to convince himself that it was nothing. He had even run into Agent 13 again. But now?

Now he knew in his gut that what he felt for the ex-Russian spy was never going away. But what did that mean for Bucky?

They had been in love. What would happen if they met now? What if they still loved each other?

It was a deep ceted and immature response, but Steve didn’t know how to compete with Bucky. The man had always been gifted with women.

And he couldn’t ask Nat about it. She did not want anything to do with his search. Steve knew that there was something about her relationship with Bucky that she wasn’t telling him. His only hope was that if they found Bucky, he might remember. But that hope was getting further and further away.

_“Boots is coming your way, passing the fruit stall. Heading back to the mark. Take a stroll, guys.”_

Standing before a stall of used books, Nat tapped his wrist lightly before dropping his hand to flip through a box.

“Remember what I said about public displays of affection?” she said quietly, catching him off guard.

Steve swallowed, “yes?”

“Wrap your arms around me.”

Tense, Steve did so, wrapping his arms low about her waist. Doing his best to smile, he dropped his chin on her shoulder, hastily scanning the crowd.

“Nine o’clock” she whispered, leaning deliberately into his right shoulder, “this way. And make it count.”

Fighting all of his instincts to look left, Steve instead picked her up by the waist, spinning her into the crowd, pretty sure he had seen this in a film. Nat gasped in surprise, giggling childishly until he finally put her down. Breaking from his hold, she skipped out of reach.

“Don’t do that!” She exclaimed, sounding very unlike herself.

_“Got him. The buyer is here. Don’t recognize him... but he’s a suspicious one. The mark slid him something. Can’t tell if it’s a folder or cash. Get in position anyway.”_

Chasing after Nat, he swept her into another bear hug, trying to look relaxed. She hung off his arm, chatting away as they strolled past the cafe.

They paused in front of a rickety fence that did nothing to keep people away from the rocky edge. Steve fought every instinct to not look over at the cafe. The deal was going down now. Maybe thirty feet away, nothing he couldn’t handle. If he just --

Her hand was firm on his wrist, as if she knew what he was thinking. Snuggling into his arm, Nat dug through her bag, pulling out a bottle of water.

_“They’re still talking about “J”. Some mention of a base? Experiments? Not sure, it’s hard to hear. No, wait -- picture time, guys. The package has moved.”_

Unconcerned she offered him the water, and Steve took it on instinct. Dumping some on his hand, he cooled off his neck and forehead. Giggling, Nat took it back, wiping at the drips on his cheek. Her eyes were currently blue, but they still had the same spark and Steve was still entranced by them.

“Come on, a picture by the ocean!”

Groaning, Steve followed her to the fence, where she was already pulling out her phone.

Slipping behind her, he obediently grinned into the camera as Nat made a kissy face. Steve was surprised at how relaxed he looked, even as his muscles tightened in preparation.

“I’m keeping that one,” Nat grinned, snapping another photo of them, the ocean a bright backdrop to their tanned faces. Flipping the lens so the camera focused on the cafe, Nat handed it to him.

The buyer sat at the cafe with someone Steve didn’t recognize. Whoever he was, the man was built like a tank and looked equally as friendly. But now they were one step closer to finding Loki’s staff.

Using his longer arms to get a better angle, Steve managed to zoom in on the scene behind them and took photos, pretending to still be posing with Nat. If money was being transferred why couldn’t they go in now? Why did they have to stay in the shadows? Demanding answers now would save time.

His eyes lingered on the woman hanging off his arm, the heat of his face not a result of the hot sun. She had a tight grip on his wrist, fully aware of where his mind had wandered. She insisted it was smarter to track the money back to its source - so that’s what he would do.

Bouncing happily, Nat took her phone back, reviewing them excitedly, sounding far too much like a teenage girl.

“What do think of this one?”

Nat held up the phone, her thumb pointing to a specific person in the photo. Steve swallowed, and managed to shrug. The man in the red shirt was not too far away.

Nat bent to kiss his cheek, “stay cool, Rogers. We are gonna walk out of this.”

Pocketing her phone, Natasha leaned into his embrace for a moment longer, her fingers tapping up his left arm. Ignoring the tingle it caused, Steve nodded.

“Food. Now.” he loudly reminded his girlfriend, tugging her back towards the stalls. Getting lost in the crowd was difficult when you were one of the few white people in the market, and one of the tallest men around, but it was better than nothing. Rolling her eyes, Nat shrugged, hanging onto his arm as they ventured back into the crowd. Following the current, Steve mirrored his steps with hers, a casual stroll that felt more like a crawl.

_“Damn. Three o’clock, guys.”_

She must have felt it the moment he did, the hard press of boots coming from the right even as Barton warned them, because suddenly Nat was twirling into his arms. And then she was pulling his head down into a kiss.

Steve froze, all too aware of the feel of her lips. Her fingers tightened on his waist, and somehow his brain understood that he had to play along. Nervously he started to kiss her back, all too aware of the figure passing by. But was that what had his hair standing on end?

Holding her close, Steve tried to focus on anything besides the taste of her. He couldn’t keep this up much longer. It was crossing a line he had drawn long ago. But unlike the time on the escalator, Nat did not immediately pull away. What was she waiting for?

The kiss was slow. Slow and perfect. It was everything he imagined it to be.

No! It was an act. It was an act. They just needed Barton’s all clear.

But then Nat’s hand tightened in his shirt and she stepped closer. Steve couldn’t pull away, even as his breath became ragged. And then her tongue found his way into his mouth.

Maybe it was his doing, but all Steve knew was that the slow kiss had morphed into something else. Clutching her tightly, he was all too aware of her body pressing into his. God, had she always been so small? His body was on fire.

He could feel the sweat of her back through her thin t-shirt and it was like lighting in his groin. God he wanted her so badly! He wanted her now!

Attacking her mouth, Steve shivered as Natasha responded just as harshly.

_All clear. Go left at the Knock-offs. 200 ft. RTB._

It was like cold water, hearing Barton’s voice in his earpiece. Because then the world came back into focus, with all of its noise and commotion. And Nat’s blue eyes pulling away.

* * *

It had been a twenty minute trip back to their safe house. And Steve had felt every second of it. With every beat of his heart. Now, leaning against the shower wall, Steve focused on breathing. He had kissed Natasha. Really, truly kissed her. And it had been amazing.

His heart was beating heavily against his chest, and his whole body ached with the adrenaline still surging through his veins. God, he wanted her so badly. It was impossible to think of anything else. He could still feel her against him.

God, he felt sick.

It had been a mission. It had been nothing but a distraction. It was part of their cover.

But Steve had never been able to separate his own feelings from a mission. Natasha knew that. The rational part of his mind said that it had been the right decision. A public display of affection.

But that darker, desperate part of his mind said differently. Nat had held too tightly, clung too long for it to be mistaken from anything else. She hadn't spoken to him since. That had to mean something? 

Pressing his head against the cold tile, Steve gave in to his desires. He was already aching and this time willing it to go away wasn’t possible. All he could feel was her body pressed against his, her lips attacking his. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

With a groan, Steve gave in and wrapped a hand around his throbbing cock.

* * *

 

_ -NATASHA'S POV- _

“What the hell was that!” 

Clint had the decency to look guilty as she marched into the bedroom in the safe house. Steve had gone to shower, so she had time to get kill her ex-partner.

Throwing down her sunglasses and wig, she angrily tore off the stupid tourist clothes she had been wearing. 

“You, why would do that? That was so unprofessional and --”

Leaning against the bunk-bed, Clint raised a brow.

“That was  _ your _ idea. You chose to kiss him.” Clint looked smug, “I just let it play out a bit longer than maybe was necessary.”

Cornering him, Nat jabbed him in the chest, “you don’t get to do that!”

The bastard didn’t flinch.

“Then why didn’t I go undercover with you? Why him?”

“Because he needs the practice! We -- we were working on this before SHIELD fell! And he is my partner, after all! Because you are semi-retired! And Steve needs to be tested on restraint, not just jumping into situations like--” 

Clint rolled his eyes, “no, you needed to test your own restraint.”

And just like that he had figured her out.

Collapsing on the bed, Nat ran her fingers through her hair. She felt sick. What must Steve think?

“I...I can’t do that to him, Clint. I don’t know how to be that sort of a person. He knows about my past with Bucky, but I can’t even bring myself to tell him about ... And now I’m kissing him? No. It’s not fair to Steve.”

“Nat,” Clint sat beside her, “the man knows all of this, and yet he is still here. Clearly you can’t scare him off.”

“He’s my friend,” she finally said, staring at her hands, “I can’t...I’m not ready to conquer that fear yet.”

His arm wrapped around her shoulder, and she gratefully leaned into him. God, she really was a fucking coward. But Steve deserved someone more grounded. Someone who he could have a real life with. She had been a vagabond her whole life, that wasn’t ever going to change. And god, if he ever found out about her past -- the whole truth? It would kill him.  Steve was still desperately searching for Bucky. And she knew from experience that it was only going to end badly. So how could she hurt him more?

"Nat, don't beat yourself up too much. You had a moment of weakness, there's nothing wrong with that."

She closed her eyes, trying to breathe normally. Steve would be out soon and she had to get her fucking act together.

"Oh, here," Nat bent down and picked up her shorts, digging into the pockets. She dropped three wooden bracelets into his hand. "You forgot to get them something."

Clint closed his hand around the gifts, glancing up at the bedroom door. 

"Thanks. I'll make sure they know you picked 'em out."

Nodding, Nat stood and crossed to her pack. It would be best if she had on some real clothes before Steve came back.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No lie, this is my favorite chapter and I couldn't wait any longer to publish.   
> This is a few weeks after the last chapter and around two months before Age of Ultron.

“See anything?” 

Steve glanced around at the cement fortress, unconvinced. It really did look abandoned. Was it really one man who had caused all this trouble? 

“No, everything looks good from up here.” 

Clint didn’t sound concerned.

Steve nodded, “alright, head down, this is as good a place as any to rendezvous.”

“Aye, aye, Cap.” 

Maybe he was overthinking things. He turned back to the prisoner, the sole person in this abandoned Red Army base. Despite his appearance he was no squatter. He was older, late 50’s, but the man had reacted like an agent. Stark figured he was ex-KGB. Steve had a bad feeling it was Hydra.

When Nat returned they could hopefully get a real answer. Maybe this man had known about the Winter Soldier. Maybe he knew something about Bucky.

Propped against a low wall, the prisoner clutched at his bloody thigh, skin grey. At least he had stopped ranting and swearing at them in Russian.

“Still conscious?”

Tony slid back his facemask, “he’s awake. But if we want answers he’s gonna need medical. The wound isn’t clotting ‘cause comrade here has too much alcohol in his bloodstream. Among other things.”

The man in question coughed and immediately moaned in pain. He didn’t appear to understand English -- he certainly hadn’t spoken any during his earlier rant. But at least his injury had shut him up. 

“Quinjet is on its way. ETA four minutes.”

Her voice in his earpiece was the only warning of her return. Her steps were impossibly light --  even with his advanced hearing Steve always struggled to hear them. She appeared on the staircase that lead up from the inner base, a stripe of dust across her catsuit. Fuck, it was still hard to look her in the eye and not turn red.

He forced that thought down: not now. He had to stay focused. 

“Anything?” 

He met her gaze, knowing she understood the real question. Was there any sign of Bucky? It was a long shot but he couldn’t not check.

Natasha shook her head, “hasn’t been used in years. But I did notice --” her eyes fell on the prisoner. Their eyes met and it was as if the air had gone cold. 

Spitting with rage the man surged forward even as Tony shoved him back down.

“Черная вдова!” the man yelled, struggling to get free. 

“Hey! Stay down! What the hell--”

“ Предатель! Tpyc!” the man spat. And then he grinned in a way that made Steve’s blood run cold.

“велосипед. яблоко. два. Звезда.” 

Steve turned to Natasha for an explanation, only to take a step back in surprise. Eyes glazed, she stared right through him.

“Da.” 

“Natasha?”

Steve barely got his arm up in time, blocking the knife she had tried to plunge into his chest. 

“Fuck! Nat!”

But she was already twisting out of reach, the knife flipping into her other hand as she attacked again. Instantly he blocked her, grabbing her wrist in a firm hold. But she surprised him with a high kick, boot missing his nose by centimeters, simultaneously slipping out of his grip.

“Romanoff! Agent Ro-- Natasha!” Stark’s voice echoed in his earpiece.

Steve tried to push her down, counting on his strength, but she was too quick. Natasha lunged again and suddenly he was desperately fending off her attacks. He was good at hand to hand combat, but this was her forte. Seeing a chance, Steve kicked at her knee, forcing her to jump out of the way. But she merely twirled the knife in her hand, whipping it at him as she spun.

Steve dropped low, jabbing her in the solar plexus, still not wanting to use his full strength. 

“Stark! Don’t engage! Don’t!”

He couldn’t risk glancing at the inventor, but he needed to be sure. The push had sent Natasha back several feet, knocking the air from her lungs. But it only bought him a few seconds. Tucking into a roll Natasha sprang back up with a second knife. 

Again she flew at him, arms and legs a blur as she tried to find an opening. Anytime he caught her in a hold she slipped away. Finally he twisted her arm back, and it seemed like she had been caught. But Nat bent his finger, her boot simultaneously connecting with his hip bone. 

Swearing, Steve dropped her, trying to swipe at her feet instead. 

But this was Nat’s element.

Leaping, she angled her elbow down into his collarbone, using all her weight to force him down. Eyes blurring in pain, Steve he fell to his knees. Fuck! She had tried to break his collarbone! 

His arm went numb and he narrowly missed the knee coming for his face. Snapping his head back, Steve caught her arm, throwing her away from him. But like her namesake, she clung on, spinning around his torso, in a move he knew all too well. 

Swearing, Steve threw her off again, even as the blade dug into his shoulder. 

Fuck. Natasha was really trying to kill him! 

“Cap!” 

He had to subdue her.

“No, Tony!”

Locking her arm in a hold, he fended off her kicks to his midsection responding with more and more force. She got several kicks to his crotch, but that was the least of his worries. He had to get the knife away from her. 

“Nat!” he tried again, knowing it was useless.

Narrowly he avoided her thigh choke hold as she spun up and around him. Taking her by the waist he threw her down hard, relying on brute strength rather than finesse. But Nat just hit the cement and rolled, unphased by whatever pain it had to have caused. 

Steve felt the blood leave his face. Anyone else and the fight would be over. But this was Natasha’s true capabilities -- and she wasn’t going down.

Steve grabbed her ankle as she kicked again, but she had been expecting it. Spinning in the air, her free heel dug into his injured shoulder. His arm went numb again. 

“Shit, Cap! Come on!” 

Ignoring Tony, he ducked a kick to his stomach. This time he put more force into his attack, focusing on her shoulder. The hit made her stagger, but she was already spinning into another attack. She kicked his kneecap and Steve swore in pain, punching her again in the same shoulder. It sent her staggering back and for a split second she seemed winded.

Baring her teeth Natasha lunged, completely ignoring her many injuries. Fuck, he might have to start breaking bones. 

With a feral cry she leapt towards him and Steve barely turned his head in time.

“Ahh!” the blade dug into his cheek, scraping bone. 

Then everything went up in smoke.

Knocked backwards by the flash bomb, Steve glared at Stark, gasping for breath. But it wasn’t his doing. A familiar arrow was buried in the cement between them, smoking faintly.

The smoke dissipated revealing the two spies struggling for control, the knife knocked aside. Barton had Natasha pinned to the ground, but she wasn’t surrendering.

“Natasha!” he struggled to keep her down, “Natasha!”

But she continued to fight, bucking under his weight. 

Coughing, Steve took a step forward, but that only made Natasha struggle more. He froze, heart pounding. 

Swearing, Barton dropped his whole body over hers. Steve saw his lips move, and then Natasha went limp. Steve knew without asking that she was back.

For a long moment no one moved.

Gently, Clint released the hold on her wrists, sitting up until he was just knelt over her. Breathing heavily, Natasha stared into the sky, arms still above her head. 

Steve glanced over at Stark, but even he was at a loss for words. 

What the hell had just happened?

Steve clenched his fist, trying to counteract the numbness in his arm. The left side of his chest, including his collarbone, was still throbbing and he wondered if she had actually caused a fracture. 

Most of his lower half was bruised, and the wound on his shoulder stung in the light breeze. He flinched as his fingers found the wound on his face and tried to press it closed. But Steve hardly felt any of it, focused solely on the woman lying on the cement.  

“Captain, this is Tango-Alpha-One, ready to land.”

Steve grimaced, pulling bloody fingers from his cheek. The Quinjet was here.

“Go ahead.”

His voice felt hollow, the words awkward and unreasonably loud. 

The odd whir of the Quinjet engines settled over everyone and Steve watched the craft drop from the clouds, landing silently on the building next to them. He knew what was supposed to happen next, but his feet refused to move. 

Steve focused on the throb of his cheek, hoping it would ground him.

“Tango-Alpha-One. Touchdown.”

Natasha was sitting up when he looked back, her forehead pressed into Clint’s chest. Standing slowly, the archer pulled Natasha up with him. A completely different woman stood there now. It was like those awful photos from her defection, Steve realized, like a breeze could knock her over. The archer held her gently, nearly keeping her upright and Steve felt something stir inside. He desperately wanted her to look at him, but Natasha was ignoring everyone. Carefully she bent down and picked up her knife -- the one covered in his blood. 

“ Шлюха. ” 

His blood went cold. 

The prisoner snickered, muttering in Russian and Steve wondered what a five-story fall would do to his laugh. He had a bloody nose -- probably from Stark, but that wasn’t good enough. If they couldn’t gag him Steve would be more than happy to knock him out. Anything to keep him from from speaking again.

Tony shook him, eyes furious, “shut the fuck up you--”

But then Natasha stood before them. The man went pale, mouth snapping shut. Cautiously, Tony released his hold and stepped back. 

Like her namesake, Natasha’s hand was instantly closed around his throat. The man choked, eyes wide with fear. Steve flinched. Even if he wanted to -- and he did -- Steve couldn’t let her kill the man.

“Captain?”

It was the pilot. 

And then the prisoner let out a garbled scream. 

Without a backwards glance Natasha turned and leapt off the roof, landing on the next building where the Quinjet waited.

As one, he and Tony looked to Clint for answers. But the archer just slipped on his bow and followed Natasha, taking a running leap off the ledge. 

Tony looked sick, “do we...do we take it with us?”

Steve shook his head, he had no idea. 

Clint’s voice cracked in his earpiece.

“Leave it.”

With a shrug, Tony took hold of the wreathing, bloody mess of a prisoner and flew off. Tearing his eyes away, Steve took a running leap off the building. One way or another, the mission was over.

Natasha had cut out the man’s tongue.

* * *

 

The ride back in the quinjet had been tense. No one spoke apart from Barton who gave quiet instructions to the pilot. The archer had then stabbed a needle into the prisoner's neck, knocking him unconscious. The mood lifted somewhat, but the heavy silence remained. Not even Tony spoke. Steve was probably supposed to call this in, but honestly, he wasn’t sure what to say. And if Barton wanted to take control, he was happy to let him.  

Natasha sat as far away as possible, staring blankly ahead. Steve had to keep tearing his eyes away.  

His entire chest ached, wanting to comfort her somehow. But he knew that wouldn’t help. 

When the Quinjet finally landed, Tony took the prisoner off first and Steve followed. Barton and Nat had stayed behind, but Steve caught the archer speaking quickly to base.  

The new facility was unfinished and barebones compared to SHIELD or Avengers Tower, but there had to be someone or something that could help. 

* * *

It was three of the worst hours Steve had ever spent waiting. Medical had taped his cheek, but that was all they could do until the serum took effect. But he didn’t mind, the bruises kept him grounded, kept him from barging in and demanding answers.

Showered and changed into civvies, Steve sat outside the high-access back rooms. Even his top clearance wasn’t going to let him through. Tony joined him at the two hour mark. 

He wondered if this was how husbands felt, waiting outside while their wives gave birth. Everything he had read in her file, everything she had ever told him, it all ran through his head. And worse, it brought back all the feelings about Bucky. This was the second time someone he loved had stared at him without recognition. Only hatred.

The door opened and both men leapt to their feet.

Steve changed his mind -- this was like waiting to hear about a heart transplant or some other equally dangerous surgery. 

Looking exhausted, Barton nodded reassuringly and Steve nearly fell to his knees.

“What the hell was that, Barton.”

Tony did not look nearly as relieved.

The archer sighed, and motioned for them to follow. Slipping into the nearest office, he locked the door behind them. 

“It was a sleeper-trigger.”

Tony threw up his hands, “obviously.”

But Steve shook his head, “how is that possible? All her triggers were removed when she defected.”

Barton collapsed into a chair, running a hand through his hair, “apparently not all of them. This...this one must have been really deep. Maybe one of the first triggers they implanted in her.”

Steve felt his knuckles pop.

“Is it...is it gone?”

Clint nodded, “they are checking for more. Gonna fly Banner down and take another look. But I don’t think they'll find anything.”

Tony sat down, leaning back in the chair, “so, why did she go after Cap?”

Clint shrugged, “they are still working out what the trigger was -- I think it was just a basic kill on sight. She saw Cap first and attacked. Or it’s possible the Iron Man suit disqualified you as a target. She didn’t see you as a soldier, maybe?”

Tony nodded slowly, fingers tapping the glass table. Steve tried to sit but immediately got up again. Clint leaned back in the chair, unzipping the top of his uniform; the man hadn’t removed his gloves or quiver in all this time. 

“How did you know how to stop her -- the code thing you said?”

Steve had wondered that too. How had Clint known how to deactivate the trigger? Every time Steve thought he understood the spies relationship, some little moment would throw him off.

“She told it to me a long time ago -- just in case. It was a sort of failsafe.”

Tony snorted, “care to share? Just in case?”

Steve glared at him.

“You won’t need it. She’s never needed it before.” Clint rubbed his forehead, “honestly, wasn’t even sure it would work.”

Steve froze in his tracks, but the archer shrugged, far more relaxed than he had any right to be.

“Well, that’s... comforting.” 

Tony rubbed his temples and slowly got to his feet. He paused at the doorway, looking uncertain, “Tell Red I’m glad she didn’t kill Cap.”

And then he was gone. 

Steve leaned on the table, taking a deep breath. Now he could get some real answers.

“She’s ok? Can I see her?”

The archer’s expression softened.

“Physically she’s fine. There are no major injuries. I’m grateful for that, by the way.” 

Steve nodded. He never wanted to hurt Nat.

“But...”

“But I think she needs some time. This really shook her up.” 

Steve swallowed his feelings. If that was Nat needed, he would do it. The archer drummed his fingers on the table, suddenly pensive. 

“You read about the Black Widow program, right? She’s told you some of...?”

He nodded.

“Well, I’m pretty certain the trigger was meant for you. Specifically.”

Natasha’s voice echoed in his head

_ You. I was trained to take down you. _

Steve ran a hand through his hair, “but I was in the ice, dead for all they knew. Why would they have programed something like that...”

A flash of anger passed over the archer, “who the fuck knows what that program was thinking.”

Steve felt the same anger, but immediately pushed it aside.

“She knows I don’t blame her or judge her for it, right? Make sure she does.”

Clint nodded, “After Banner looks at her tomorrow, I’m gonna take her out of here. I -- we’ve got a place. Where she can recuperate.”

Steve nodded, “of course. All the time you need.”

Standing, Clint rolled his shoulders, twinging slightly. 

“Thanks. But if you do need us, don’t be afraid to call. Especially if there is any news on Loki’s staff.”

There was that same emotion building in his chest, but Steve pushed it down and followed him out of the office. Clint turned left, heading back to Natasha. Steve wanted nothing more than to follow.

“Tell her...tell her I’m fine and I want her to be ok, yeah?”

He knew Natasha would only use this incident to flagellate herself. 

Clint nodded in understanding, “Sure thing, Cap.”

His feet had turned to lead weights as he watched the archer walk away. First Bucky and now Nat. 

God, he couldn’t lose her too. 

 

* * *

 

[The Next Day]

Steve couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“What do you mean I can’t be there?”

Hill cocked her head, unintimidated.

“It’s Fury’s orders. He is the only one allowed to interrogate the prisoner besides Agent Romanoff. No one else.”

He barked out a laugh.

“Fury is supposed to be dead! And he doesn’t run the Avengers, I do. And the prisoner doesn’t have a fucking tongue, how much can he even tell us?” Steve shook his head, “No, I want answers. This man was running around an abandoned Hydra base and somehow knew the trigger phrase to set off one of my team. What is going on? What is Fury hiding this time?”

A door opened and Steve grimaced.

“I am not hiding anything, Captain.” 

Steve glared at the dead man.

“Despite what you might think, I am doing this on behalf of Agent Romanoff. She gave you access to her file, Captain, but that is not even close to her whole story. Now, I do not think this man is a threat, but his knowledge of her past, whatever it may be,  _ is _ dangerous.” Fury paused, “Need I remind you that several countries are demanding she be held accountable for the numerous felonies and  _ assassinations _ she committed prior to SHIELD? Now, until agent Romanoff decides otherwise, this is all you are allowed to know.”

“Steve,” Hill looked sympathetic, “Natasha requested it herself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian Translations:
> 
> "Black Widow!"  
> "Traitor! Coward!"  
> "Bicycle. Apple. Two. Star." (Trigger phrase)  
> "Whore."
> 
> *In previous chapters any Russian I used was written in the latin alphabet, but for this scene I thought I should be accurate*


End file.
